Current

I stood on a chair in my parents' kitchen.
My mother was washing dishes.
My father was sweeping the floor.
I was cleaning years of dirt, grime, and dust
Off the metal shade of a pull-down lamp
That hung over our dinner table.
My mother was singing,
My father was in his mind,
And I was scrubbing the shade with scouring pads,
Removing decades of brown black dust,
Exposing the shiny, silver shade
That lay beneath so much dirt.
When all of a sudden,
Electricity from an exposed wire grabbed me by the hand
And held me tightly in its grasp.
I could not not move a muscle.
I could not let go.
She held my hands to that silver shade,
Sending 110 volts through my heart.
I only could move my eyes.
My mother, washing dishes,
My father, with a broom,
And no one to save me from my doom.
I thought I would die, and considered it the end,
When I was overwhelmed with a greater will to live.
I spoke to my self, in desperation,
I called to my self with my voice.
Let go.  I whispered.
Do not hold on.
I blamed the current that held me in its grasp,
But my self held the shade.
Let go. I whispered.
I took courage and purpose,
And with all my will,
With all my strength,
With desire to live in tomorrow,
I said to my self once more,
Let go,
And I lived.

The river is strong, and it will wash over you,
But I am still standing within its power.
The current is strong, and it may sweep you away,
But I will not fall.
Let go, little lamb,
I will hold on to you.

I looked at my hands where they had held the lamp shade,
And the flesh of my pinky was opened,
Skin torn open,
Burned white and black.
I still bear the scar of this memory on my body,
And remember how it felt
As the current passed through my heart,
But I did not fall from my feet.
I stood without falling,
As I stand now in this river with you,
Holding your hand in this current.
I will stand under you.
You will not fall in this love,
Nor I.

Let go, little lamb,
I will not let go of you.