SUMMIT

so cold here

Which way is up?
Which way is down?
I don't really care where
I'm going, but I want
to know where I am.

I am reaching a point, a
peak, a summit, a plateau
of realization that I might
have received the short end
of the stick, and at this point,
that stick has been so whittled
down into a point as sharp
and long as my smallest
fingernail.

I haven't been able to
call out, and no rescue team
has been sent, because no
one knows that I'm out here
in this space, starting to
understanding the gravity of
the situation.

If I had known this would
come, I would have packed
different supplies with me,
wearing different clothes, to
prepare me for the extreme
wind chills that race over my
body when as I look down over
at where I started.

It's so cold here that the few
tears that have slipped from
my eyes are frozen on my cheek,
not able to form and stay long
enough to roll down to my chin.

I never knew. And yet, I feel
disenchanted and upset because
somehow, it still feels like I should
have known. I should have figured
it out, where the path and the roads
were leading to, and I should have
been able to do something, say something--
anything would have sufficed.

But now I am here, and I cannot
look away.