Dominique Larntz * January 7 * “Love Letters To My Body”

The Hero’s Welcome

When you are a little older
you may also be sad to look back
and find you have been judged
for extending a helping hand
during an evening’s walk
to a woman who has driven herself
kilometers too far
onto the twisting road
with all the signs that read
“Watch for falling rocks”
in either direction.

It has crushed us,
and it may do the same
to you, to help pull her awkwardly
through the unsteady window
from underneath her
boulder-topped car just
before a tons piece of granite
takes one more topple-turn
that would have crushed
her body completely
had you not wandered along
at the precise moment you did,
and to have her fix her gaze upon you
and instead of thanking you,
or thanking life,
or even exhaling,
she will tell you you can’t set her down,
can’t let go of her hand,
can’t call anyone for help,
that you must carry her with you,
and she will say,
as if she is joking,
I have to wonder
if you know
what you are doing.

She will ignore
the piece of the mountain
crushing the place where
her fragile body
was imprisoned
a moment ago.

She focuses only on
your aptitude and confidence
in your rescue role,
as if you are auditioning
for all future heroism
and the important thing
is your individual prowess
and not this beautiful