My facile answers have turned sour,
my tissue-paper wings
discolored and then melted in the rain,
sad framework of support now holding nothing

I should recognize this path by now —
enough times I’ve skipped blithely down it
pretending not to see the looming overcast
or how bravado sidled in
to prop up failing confidence,
coming to this place —
cold lumps of despair,
nowhere to fall to

Slim threads of light return
as I remember
this is no task for me
to shoulder on my own

Given a moment of stillness,
grace returns,
an element I never could concoct,
a lifeline I can hold to.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 4, 2017