At the Top

My partner asked if I'd go,

and I said yes, though now I know

I'm sitting here, climbing higher,

the car ticking up, and I tire

of knowing what's coming next,

the fall that will leave me vexed.

Below, the people look small.

The sky is full.

The moment before the drop is here,

and it's not dread, not quite fear—

it's this strange suspension

where the knowing and the tension

are the same thing,

where I'm waiting for the sting.

My stomach remembers

what my brain hasn't experienced yet, like embers

about to ignite, about to burn,

and there's no going back, no return.

I'm thinking: I said yes.

I chose this. I confess

that in a few seconds,

I'll understand what beckons.