Posted: Jul 1, 08 3:00pm

Colleagues,

With her permission I want to share a poem from a woman who is a carpenter, a sculptor, a writer, and a warrior in the finest sense of the word. And who is a frequent visitor at Tier II. She also wrestles daily with a mighty foe—her severe dyslexia. What more frustrating burden for a writer?

You may have encountered her elsewhere on TeeBeeDee. Her posts are readily recognizable for their jumbly, antic quality. It takes a moment—a leap of imagination—to gather in the meaning. But meaning is always present. She writes boldly, honestly from a life rich with experience. She writes thoughtfully, with compassion, empathy, and great good cheer. And when she writes poetry, with a little help from a typist friend, it can take your breath away.

Something About a Survivable Fall (or Where Home Is)

by The Dyslexic Dodger

I installed a new stovepipe on a lady’s woodstove,

then intended to clean her chimney.

The lady said, “No.”

She remembered my fear of heights.

We stood in her yard gazing up at the chimney top and arguing amicably.

“I can go that high. Don’t worry about it.” (Knowing full well talk’s cheap when you’re standing on the ground.)

“But you’re afraid of heights,

and you might fall you know.”

“I’ve fallen further than that before,” I snickered.

“I can just see you sliding down those mossy shingles,

with nothing to stop you except gutters…and they would just bend.”

I could have lived with less visual empathy at that moment.

I tried to explain about pushing through the smothering envelope of my fear

every time I climb a couple rungs higher up a ladder.

The terror and glory of reaching through miles of space to that next rung—and pulling myself up.

It has not a thing to do with “being” afraid

and everything to do with my compulsion to climb through my fears.

I wish I’d either kept my mouth shut while working on the barn roof

or told her that part out loud.

“I have two concerns about you going up there, she said. You falling,

or your further damaging the roof by walking around on it.

Besides, what’s the difference between working on this roof or the barn roof?” she asked.

“This is a survivable fall,” I answered.

“I don’t want you to make the roof leak, since it’s holding now,” she stated.

Unfortunately I could see her point. Besides, it was her house.

I said, “Okay. I won’t go up.” I felt my jaw unclench; and the loss of a little fire in my eyes.

“You didn’t have to bring up that last bit about damaging the roof, you know.”

“I know, but I had to think of something fast,” she laughed.

I walked away thinking about my understanding of what home means.

It’s not where you’re from.

It’s where you’re at.

I bet she would have understood.

And had a clean chimney.