"Holding On" by Peter Leight

Holding On

If I’m holding onto you, it’s only because I need something to hold onto, only because I’m stronger than I expected, you don’t notice, even in private, which is reassuring. It’s not the kind of holdup where something is postponed or taken away from you, if I’m holding onto your breast, it’s only because I don’t want to drop anything that belongs to you, not even by accident, not at all — you can’t drop something you’re not even holding onto, right? Not picking up anything I’m not holding onto: I don’t think we’re disagreeing. I’m stronger on one side, maybe it’s the other one, the one that’s closer to you, of course proximity is something you need to share with somebody you’re close to. Honestly if I’m holding onto you, it’s only because you’re right here where I’m reaching out for something to hold onto, wasn’t it Hegel who thought everything is connected to everything else? When you hold onto a part of something, you hold onto what it’s part of, I mean it’s easier when everything about the body’s shape is a handle. I don’t mind if it feels familiar, or it’s repetitive, I’m not slowing down, sometimes I need to tell myself to hold on, or hold it, as if I’m carrying around a load I’m holding onto, and I can’t even put it down.

Peter Leight

Peter Leight lives in Amherst, Massachusetts. He has previously published poems in Paris Review, AGNI, Antioch Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, FIELD, Matter, and other magazines.  

Headshot: Margaret Bruzelius

Photo Credit: Staff