“Even the Pain”

Call the broken broom; sweep my wings and even the pain Do the heavy fruiting boughs bend and call with even the pain?

Wide-barreled bullet proof guns/ does not the handler need proofing? Shatter my glass skinned heart and paint with even the pain

We taught what poets thought/ pearl strings around oysters, Do my calculations offend you?/ what taught even the pain?

Does my spider infested soul call out your name?/ Lies dead drunk Feverish awakening numbed again – But? – We forgot even the pain.

Broken like fine sand; slips though my fingers like water These gifts I bear within / Barring, yet holding, even the pain.

Janet Orlene

Recent Posts