Taste
of Peace
bracelets
coiled
tightly
‘round
her slim wrist
her
hand trembles
a
little
speaking only
in
verse
looking
for names in
the crowd
to
argue with about
the
dead
instead she
is
challenged on the
impotence
of
God
going
cool in her skin
she
recalls
once having
friends
who believed
in
Heaven
those
bound
by the conceits of
instinct
and agony
she wades later
in
a laurel patch
cadenced somehow
by
a theatrical night
spent
hunting
for a taste of peace
calls
on her yearnings
in the vast wild
of
moon-flooded night
to
stitch
the motif
she
is plain
and good-hearted
despite
the rain
on the other side
of
her chest
***
Purposely, I left my book at home today, so
I didn’t have to lug it around after work en-route to the Memorial Cup Street
Fest. My iPod also needed charging, so I scribbled on my morning commute. This poem
was the result. I was just glad to find scrap paper in the bottom of my bag so
I could write. No matter what it is, it’s
always good to put pen to paper. I know what imagery this conjured for me, I
hope for those who read it, can see her
similarly.
Heading to see Ria Mae this evening. Then
home to my bed. I wish it would warm up. I think I’ll have to wear my hoodie and my jacket tonight. Where is the sun!? At least it isn’t raining (knock
wood).
Happy Wednesday!
In propinquity,
Nic
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