Hurt
from Out With Lanterns, a daily poetry practice
When it happens, get curious about the sour taste. Wonder how the soft parts so long ago bruised are still susceptible. Marvel for a moment at how quickly the day can go from fine to far-from-fine, how invisible the shift. It can’t be measured, but of course it is real. Like how a frog croaking in water leaves rings, reverberations, ripples. It’s like that when they toss such careless words into your water.
Ah. This is perfection. Your poems always get to the heart of things (and to the heart of me), and this one - the delicacy of its imagery, the direct address, the truth of it - leaves me speechless. Thank you.