What is the point of this adrenaline

if not to catch a falling baby,

escape from a lion or revive a drowning man?

Where can all of this feeling go?  I want a place for it.

A drawer, a box, a shelf, a treasure chest, the trunk of a car

maybe an large envelope to mail it far away.

Away from me. Where I am not the one.

Draw another name from the hat, surely she is stronger.

How am I to hold this prickling, burning weight,

vibrational surge, flaming fingertips?

Pressure builds until this little teapot

blows her steam.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2017


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