Hands That Tremble
Holding a dying creature during childhood
will leave you with hands that tremble.
The bird, tattered and bloody in the grass.
Restrain yourself from touching it.
The upturned, twitching moth, considering
its own mistake, bulb for moon.
The amputee cricket. The drowning worm,
stuck in a puddle. The punctured fish.
Your curiosity and compassion weaken you.
Watching a body go blank will tug
the ground up and down, infect you with tremors.
Yes, our footing is that precarious.
Showing posts with label Hands That Tremble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hands That Tremble. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
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