When FDR declared the nation had only fear to fear,
He never had a gun to his head,
Ballistaphobia
never had a cobra hood opened at his bare legs
Ophidiaphobia
or strolled past the body of a jumper from a Manhattan 32 story high rise,
Necrophobia
the thump of the fall nearly lifting his feet off the ground.
But it wasn’t then that acrophobia hit.
No, it was the carefree days of carnivals and Ferris wheels,
free from regulations and safety straps, not even for seats
that turned upside down with the slow-turning wheel.
I was five and my car mates were nine and ten, measurably
larger, taller than I so that the metal bar kept them in as
the wheel spun us upside down and then right side up,
me clutching with all my strength to keep myself inside.
Thanatophobia. I had never heard the word in my five years,
but I lived my way through it many times since, perched on a ledge peering down thirty floors into a postage stamp courtyard, pondering the weighty sum of a life’s body at its impact against the immovable.
Aha! Found the saved version in drafts!! Not sure why I never clicked “publish”. Long night.
I love the mix of feeling, vocabulary, science, and poetry. An excellent response to the visual prompt.
Thank you!
Wow. The phobias sure cause a lot of trouble, but we seem to learn to navigate them. 🎡🏣✈️🕷
Wonderful. The ways it travels are so surprising. So appropriate.
The tension between science, rhythm, narrative, and lyricism is fantastic.
I love the way you used the photo as a catalyst for writing about different types of phobias, and how the poem moves from the historical (FDR) to the adult personal and to very personal childhood fears. The descriptions of riding those amusement park rides at five are hair-raising! Well done!