I could use the example of a table,
a guesthouse, a burlap sack
or say it’s like the period of stasis
between changing trains
at an out-of-the-way station
in a foreign country, the name of the place
unfamiliar, difficult to pronounce.
Or two fully laden vehicles
in a head-on collision, the fireball
ferocious enough to force
the emergency crew
back from the point of impact.
I only know that the moments of beauty
are small and worth clinging onto
while the day-to-day of it
has drained and discouraged me,
filled me too often with anger.
I would like to use instead
the example of a hot air balloon,
the guy ropes cut, the sand bags pitched out,
the ascent serene,
the air clearer, the sky cloudless,
everything falling away,
the landscape a model railway layout,
movement almost imperceptible
and nothing to be seen
in the way of division.
I would like to think that down there
grappling hooks weren’t being swung,
sightings taken, drones launched,
that one could rise and not be dragged
back down. It would be a comfort
to believe in some form of heaven.
Neil Fulwood is the author of two collections with Shoestring Press, No Avoiding It and Can’t Take Me Anywhere, with a third title forthcoming in early 2021. He has also published two pamphlets with The Black Light Engine Room Press: Numbers Stations and The Little Book of Forced Calm. Neil lives and works in Nottingham.