30 Poems in 30 Days – Poem #16

In Uncategorized on April 16, 2013 at 10:44 pm

Poem #16

Who taught your fingers to grasp for sunlight in rain storms?

When you flirted with my fifty five year old nurse as she gave me the test results,
fear tasted like sugar on my tongue.

I know you use humour to hide behind,
repeat the patterns of other people’s giggles when you have tired of counting sheep to get to sleep.

You don’t do heavy.
Our conversations are escape slides over the top of plane wings.

But sometimes, I want to peel the glaze from your eyes,
ask how you feel when you imagine my dying.

I know that some days the world is a black hole,
you – one person standing on the edge of it.

Sometimes you reach out your fingers and there is no sunlight,
it is all thunder,

striking the same finger on the same hand by the same flooded piece of land.

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