From the collection Picture Making, published 2017. The three photos served as the inspiration for the poem. For more information, look here.
Rusted Cliff Edge in a Red Dress
No. It just said
No.
It shouted
No
It was
Neglected. Chained shut.
What was it used for
anyway
when it was being used?
It’s just a place
like a million billion other places
A plot of ground surrounded by a chain link fence
the gate fastened up tight
a rusted padlock to keep it that way
especially since the key has been lost
I can tell just by looking
bolt cutters are all that’s going to
Suddenly
no reason, just have to
I have to snap that thought in two
don’t want to think it anymore
I crave the sight of something
anything
that’s not broken
I turn my head to look down the street
the row of modest shops. The window
with the bright red awning
displaying bright dresses for small girls. How well you know
That red awning will fade in the sun
Those dresses will end up outgrown
stained or
mistaken bleached in the wash
I can tell just by looking that
Suddenly
no reason, can’t stop myself.
I think. No
There is so little time
when things are fresh and new and full of hope
and so much time they spend having come to the edge of
collapse
but not quite there
yet
5/27/16 for 5/25/16
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
I really get the sense of being on the edge of a cliff with this one.
Thank you. Sometimes things do edge right up there. Don’t they?
They do, and the slightest thing can push them over.
Thank you. As I think back to the time when I wrote this, I felt this way, some days, luckily not all. At the moment I am pretty far back from the edge. Like it there much better.
There are edges and edges. The ones with a big cliff at the other side are not good. I’m glad you’re way back from that one 🙂
Thank you. Me too. Yes, amen to that, and you bet. Hope never to see the scenery from that angle ever again.
🙂
Just to not see anything that is broken … wonderfully put the whole of it. 🙂
Thank you. Sometimes I hope for mended, or fixed, if we can’t have not broken, but that sight can get old too. I hope for wholeness to last in most things…