The Jump

The verdant valley hugs the river down.
No glasses. I see blurs of torquoise-brown.
Humid mists taste of an unknown fish-paste.
Almost like licking a goldfish in haste.

I'm on the bridge near Nepal and Tibet.
Over five hundred feet up from being wet
By plunging into the mud stream below.
I forget why I signed up. I don't know.

A thick rope attached to my heel and vest.
The jump is my long-awaited final test.
I look down. Shouldn't have done that. I swallow.
Make peace with God, then jump. Geronimo.

Blurry jungle slips into warp drive
Vision becomes a van Gogh work
Like a fuelless falling Boeing
Sound of a jet stream in ear
Taste so refreshing.
Goosebumps.

Then I stop.
A few feet away
From the waters
I begin my ascent.
Then again my fall.
Up then down.
Down then up.
Then I stop.

Still blind as a tree without my glasses.
My mind works like winter molasses.
Only one thought somehow processes:

The Jump was amazing.


-Wren

Next poem: Better
Last poem: Lemon Ginger Tea

Sorry guys, didn't have enough time for a HQ picture. So enjoy this Gentle Turtle via  MSpaint.