poems
For the Pain

I invent a gentler voice to greet your body, summon
touch to heal depleted earth. Memories of war
but faded. A childhood swallowed then spewed
in furious mouthfuls, the cardinal points
of imagery returned.

Barely visible line, moving from A to B, passing through
C. Curved taut as a bow, then gone. How to
find your way around the plateaus stenciled on your back. We stumble, hurrying to overtake
a night sky.

Today a remedy looms. Then crouches again, folding
between your frozen eyes. Watchful. Tall but empty-handed.
Edges of scorched earth, peeling. Pain held
in increments, high-pitched, grieving only
its mirror self.

This is how I will say yes, still no sure answer
but absent of fear. You will hold moonlight-still,
waiting never your easiest strength. Something,
we agree, something unfamiliar. Coming tomorrow.

- When They Left You For Dead / Halfway Home, by Margaret Randall.