in passing (second time)
so secretly vulnerable,
you, child;
the restless, intense little girl
with the ash hair and steel eyes,
who still makes strong showing
in her silent fight with mid-life;
perennial grace,
draped in your soft-fitting white:
the only caress
you allow of yourself.
and if someone held you,
I think you would shatter
to sharp gleaming slivers
before you would fold in their arms;
And when we passed
I averted my eyes,
in case you'd read in them
the pain in what I just said.
© Jonathan Bohrn (1999) |