Blog poetry WRITING



there’s little strategy to be found
— in the gruesome submission of imprisonment

if you saw his hands on the lunchroom table
— you’d know what i mean

his range of e/motion
— was fixed

even though he was using
— his body in bitter expression

you’re only seven steps in a different direction, i think to myself. i just happened to get momentarily caught up in the arms of peace and you in the arms of rage, and so many times i’ve longed for the embrace you accepted without second thought. i’ll never see that little boy again, nor understand his abridged innocence or prolonged guilt; but i miss him, and how for a moment he could look up to me and into my eyes, assured of love, safety and the unsung tradition of family.

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