The Suspension

The chain pulls us up, up,

and my nephew's hand finds my arm.

We're climbing toward something

we can't see yet,

just metal tracks

and the sound of the mechanism,

click-click-click,

like a clock counting down

to something neither of us is ready for.

At the top, there's a second

where nothing happens.

The chain releases.

We hang there,

and the fairground spreads out below,

vast and small,

and my nephew grips tighter

because the waiting is worse

than the fall.

He's terrified of the moment

before the moment.

The anticipation eating him alive

before his body even knows

what it's falling into.

I want to tell him

that this is the worst part,

that once you're dropping

there's nothing to do

but drop,

but I can't,

because I'm still waiting too,

still climbing,

still holding his small hand

in this second

that lasts forever

before everything

lets go.