Got you good

Got you good
By Kathleen Kimball-Baker

Along came the day you knew,
dangerous, like black ice.

You had a choice
but only this: do or die.
Some call that a choice,
because the dying is slow
and they don't notice,
even though it shows around
your eyes and how you walk.
So you were afraid of the do,
because you might be alone
and that wasn't at all sensible.

But you couldn't stop the longing --
For muscles humming "more"
For clumsiness, knowing nothing, and the bruises
For tree tops casting over their shoulders gold and pink
For chasing a runny nose into the woods, into cold white and blooms of darkness
For frozen waves able to sing once more
For the click of little stones the lake swallows
For the spill of painful beauty on your face

You wanted all this and sweetness,
the width of it all and the tallness, too,
the dark nights with noises and the soft safe mornings
and the whole do-over every single day
with the "feed me, water me, let me run and smell things"

You didn't think you could choose them
You thought you would die,
and you would have,
and you still will.

Then along came the day
you just knew:

The wild got you good.