Wednesday, August 6, 2014

A poem about things you can't lose.

I am violently silent
around them,
about it,
in the way
a rock wears flat
beneath the caress 
of time and river.

If poetry is cracking
open ribs to lay bare the hidden
I would kindly request reprieve.

Today there are words 
I'm trying to work around my lips
Without so much cracking
"When we were trying"-
And the box of hand me downs
My mother bought for us.