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When She Cuts August 29, 2014

Posted by vscorpiozine in Veteran Poets.
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When She Cuts

When she cuts,
I bleed.
Her wounded little girl heart
Is like silly putty in my pal.
I shape it, but she stretches it back
To its unaltered state.
She does not deserve propriety.
She just stays where it is warm.
When she remembers, I forget
The Bicentennial summer
When she sat by idly,
Ripping out the pages of her life story
One by one,
Embroidering them with red marker
Like they didn’t belong.
When she listens,
I hear
The bouncy, chaotic rhythm of a heartbeat in 4/4 time
And the sound of applause
Rushing like water through a tunnel
Timeless and arrogant,
A swelling tumor of perseverance.
When she closes her eyes,
I see
The pigment blurring and shifting
Into a priceless canvas
Perfect for window shopping.
(Hands grown brittle. Too long “Look, but don’t touch.)
She stares through pink chiffon window curtains
Like a tumor on my conscience.
When she dies,
I will live.

Copyright 1980, 2005 Jade Blackmore

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