Gripped

And again we circle back to fear.
You'd think I'd recognize the shape of his head,
or her signature gait, from the back
as many times as I have rounded this block.

But a tune being hummed distracts me.
In the distance I see the answer I've been seeking taking shape
and its by accident that I stumble upon fear again.
Having not recognized the suffocating scent of self doubt
until already surrounded with nowhere to flee.

I mistake dawn for dusk,
the beginning for the end.
Blink a couple of times to regain my focus,
retrieve reading glasses to properly see
the blurred vision moving slowly in front of me
hoping I am quick enough to grasp it before it is gone forever.

Today I am lucky.
The doctor tells me I have eyes like my father
and while I am yet unsure whether that is a blessing or curse,
I look on.
I take hold of the vision, clinch it close to my chest
and walk along with fear.
Knowing that the first steps past fear are the hardest,
That as I move out of paralysis, fear has no choice but to loosen its grip.