In High Places

I'm leaning over the balcony,
looking into an open space.
The sunlight is gathered in
through the wall of windows.
If I pushed and let myself
topple, I would land on my head,
but not die.
I think about the balloon,
the light singing out from the horizon,
leaning over the wicker sides and saying Yes,
if I jumped, this would kill me.
I think about my fears.
Coming home to a dark house with cars in the driveway,
my advisor's casual comments about bulimia,
steeling my body like armor against the words of an audiobook.
The railing of a balcony is not included.
My professor passes behind me, calling "Don't jump!"
and giving me a smile.
I don't tell her that's exactly what I'm thinking about.
I don't tell her I've never contemplated suicide
or self harm; not even once
although its more than true.
I think about my fears.
I think about the women whose lives I can't change,
and all the harm I've done.
I think about wanting
to help them gather in the sun.