I face the wall and think that I have been here before
this time it is physical, not literal, but I have been here
nonetheless

This is a climbing wall indoors and perfectly safe
I am securely strapped in a harness and tethered safely
to a belay rope

It is perfectly safe
this is the logical rational part of my brain speaking
the irrational side
is screaming

I watch the other climbers
some are
slow and laborious
cautiously weighing each move
while others scamper like spiders
up the web of cracks and crannies
their fingers and toes coated
with velcro
they lightly touch and move on

I taste the sharp tang of gun metal
the acrid taste of childhood tongue on swing chains
and monkey bars
chills slip across my skin as if the cold steel
of a razor blade is being drawn against it

I don't remember waking up on any specific morning
with fear in my heart
but it is with me now
without reason I am afraid of heights
and darkness
strangers and noises
shadows and dying

I wonder, if by climbing this wall,
the fear will die
or like a scolded dog
slink away briefly

Slowly I inch my way upward
my eyes glued to the wall
in front of me
my breath becomes shallow
almost desperate
my fingers seek purchase with
all the assurance of a blind man
in a knife store

I reach the point at which no hold
is easily grasped
I must stretch past
my comfort zone
fingers scrambling into the void

I glance downward hoping to see
the next toe hold, and what I see instead
is fear,
scampering up the rope
and grabbing me by the throat

Where I wonder, do spiders get their courage
to swing out into eternity
on one slender silken thread