Breathe

You hear a garbled voice
giving directions you don’t understand.
You wait.
Then something begins to move you along.
There is now nothing you can do.
You have no control.
A panic rises.
Breathe.

You’re being swept along
a wet path, like a rising river,
and then giants appear
tossing their huge heads
of thick red hair all around,
slapping and flapping,
swirling as in a frenzy,
dancing until they drop as though dead.

Then more water sprays,
with a rocking force,
pummeling, slamming
on all sides of you, a raging surge
and then it stops.
Now you’re going backwards.
Your progress is reversing
while a gentle solution washes
all around, sliding down in droplets
as you start once again
toward the original direction
where you see a red light
turn green and there is silence.

Breathe.

Turn on the car.
Drive out. It’s over.
Someone you’ve never seen
is waiting with a towel.
You head out to the highway,
cars barreling down from both
directions. You wait to get safely onto the road,
an achievement a minute as you drive
toward home, knowing
that the end is still to come.

And you still have really no control

Breathe

by Barbara Wolf (2008)