Fear is a wasp
the size of my thumb
with a sewing needle stinger.
A circling, hovering airplane in a holding pattern around my head,
buzzing like an out-of-tune piano,
menacing me like a hawk scouting its prey,
and I don’t know when, or if, it will strike.

Fear is the morning before an exam
when what I know seems like nothing
and what I’m not sure about seems like everything.
And then I get stuck in traffic,
and don’t know if I’ll make it on time.

Fear is ‘a fun and relaxing way’ to enjoy my vacation
that turned out to be quite different.
A passenger in an overloaded powerboat
bouncing as if the ocean is a trampoline,
pummeled by the water,
weaving sharply left and right
in a nonexistent labyrinth with no exit in sight.
No captain at the helm,
my fate in the hands of an eight year old girl
who had no idea how to navigate.
Fear is a captain
who used to (and might still) smuggle people
and doesn’t really care about his passengers.
Fear is when you almost crash
into a boat, a cliff, and a fish farm
at lightning speed,
and you don’t know when almost
won’t be almost anymore.

Fear is a ‘once in a lifetime’ African safari
that almost ended up that way.
A staring contest
with an enormous, enraged bull elephant in must, ready to charge
in an open-topped Land Rover
in the middle of nowhere.
Waiting for endless tense minutes
while the elephant decides
if he feels threatened.
The momentary hushed silence,
just before the conductor signals the orchestra to play,
interrupted by the elephant’s trumpet.
Feeling the vibration of the vehicle stop
as the driver kills the engine,
as if the Land Rover had fainted.

Fear is the feeling
created by not controlling, not knowing
what will happen next.