Vol 8, Num 10 :: 2009.05.08 — 2009.05.22
She called me insecure
Like any good wordsmith
I hammered into etymology the moment
I could fit my tongs around it.
The dictionary opens its serious blue cover
Pats its pockets for the Latin root
Ah yes
Se-cure
Apart from (hiccup) care
Name me insecure true
enough then
The potatoes comfort of good stew
The white pad on adhesive
bandage
The hoarse and desperate
voice of the gathered
That’s care and me
Inseparable
Wrapped up tight like gauze
in the hands of the militant, the wounded
Dreams of security
and her bumptious cousin abundance
wisp away like my babies’ years
I turn on golden-dyed sheets
listen to earth’s secrets teeming
under the crust
lay a finger on the shape in the dark
lightly so lightly on
you who are here with me.
your comments
comments powered by Disqus