Tuesday, May 24, 2011

A Little Bruise

A Little Bruise


Did I fall, or bump my head against something?

A long time ago I recall, dimly, that something might have happened.

Perhaps while running down the street to call the cops,

Or cowering in hostile fear against my father’s rage.


It seems that it would take more of a bump,

Yet a long time has passed.

Back then, alone, walking through the blinding sand,

Alone, feeling guilty, poor, desperate,

Daily seeing love curdle and die,

But without no real point of impact, no sound.


Strange how it works, coming from the capillaries first,

To spread the angry purple through the limbs.

Then tender to the touch, and soft, then warm,

And pliable in spite of all.

Sometimes it seems to take a while to stop,

This mystery of bleeding underneath the skin.