Thresholds

Thresholds by Eric Ashford

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Thresholds

The morning we wake up dying
becomes the last step
the one that trips us up into life.

Thresholds are not places we pass through
but cul-de-sacs for our terminal blindness.

The tree topples because it is too fruitful
or too hollow.
A river meanders, but until it tumbles
over a waterfall it keeps losing power.
A mind continues to close doors
then all the locks shatter.

People fall in love and fall over love
until there is only the sound
of hearts breaking bones.
We are nonplussed into the light.

And what is a threshold?
It is the hilarity of a dancing bear
as the divine beast
feels its power to survive.
The uproar of small irresistible desires
as you come through yourself
seeking your strength.

You are out of your own trap.
You are a portal
beaten open with sky-clad hands.

The earth caved inwards
and you stood within yourself.
The rains came; the burial party left.
Secretly you grew in your own ruins
until your long history crumbled away.

Then you went out to buy a newspaper
but you did not read it.
For there would be no report
of your liberation
until you wrote a poem
only the living could write
and the dead could understand.