Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Bow: A Poem




There is a violence of mind—
a loneliness,
a coldness.
But not premeditated—
Learned
Fashioned
Awarded
You cannot draw me a picture of it,
although
perhaps
if you put your hand on your belly
the other on your throat
and whisper
I am right.
I have the truth.
I will prove it to you.
And then,
shut your eyes and murmur
I am not sure.
I don’t know.
Have a cup of tea.

We can open our eyes,
blink back tears
and bow.

KN


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