Wonder like miasma intrudes
Seeking guidance in foreign terrain
my fingers trace
the hole in my chest
my heart’s domain
I wonder if it’s possible
to scoop up the good times
horde them like a precious salve
anoint when needed
sparingly
to coax a smile
in a fading afternoon
I wonder if you can see
through my lies
made up excuses
for staying one more
one more hour
I am brave for a day
for a night
for as long as it takes
I’ve sworn myself to silence
I wonder if the muscle disappearing
under your skin
will reveal the bones broken
in childhood accidents
if the memories dropping like bombs
from the hatches of your mind
will reveal the absence of you
Wonder is a gift best given
to the young
whose blood affirms life
unimpeded by anticipated grief
1 comment:
What a treasure you are, my friend! Thanks so much for sharing this. I love the image of scooping up good times and hoarding them to use as a salve, esp. juxtaposed with the image of staying for just one more hour. Powerful.
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