The Cusp
by Meredith Blaise '19

​I am on the cusp.

The crumbling, indefatigable cusp.

My toes curl tentatively over its edge, and the draft of the surely gaping chasm shakes me.

Peristaltic self doubt weakens my core, before
A single push hurls me over the edge.

The free fall is long, whipping, draining.

And when it stops, when it finally stops after indefinite anguish, and I am sure I am dead,

My feet touch solid ground. And the precipice, the one I had an abstrusely vivid fear of, was only a few feet up.

Triumph. Beaming triumph.

Until I turn around again, to see that I have reached another cusp.

Another crumbling, indefatigable cusp...