In The Snow
a taste of home, or
some snowy abode
packed with melt,
a felt-sense interrogation.
likely way shorter,
because it is much
more difficult to cry
when you are shivering.
likely a far cry
from comfortable, or
carefully wrapped
blankets we bundle
our hopes in the
frosting-tipped
evergreens.
Longform
Uncomfortable
elongation of the elaborate
tale: a vexing spinning
of yarn across the circle.
An exercise in restraint.
Opening up the floor
and falling, falling down.
Passing the baton.
Taking off of airs.
Space between words
inflating. Gestating.
Gesturing toward the clock.
I would have said all the same,
likely not less or more,
and would have spent
the immense remainder
in pregnant silence.
Mirror
Another at the center,
inevitable enough.
To hear a voice
other than my own.
To listen intently
without rocking,
without shaking
of the head or
wringing of
the wrists.
If someone else
had centered themselves
among tragedy, I might
have felt disgust.
Or a disgusted jealousy.
A childish curiosity.
Or incredible gratitude.
Or I would have cried
all the same.
Likely I would have cried.
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