You were imprinted on my fingertips
A legacy of refusals?
written as a dim memory
in line and skin
I kept you at arms length
or balled you into a fist
~
As a child
it is true
I was taught
to expect some relationship
~
So impressed into the feverish
tribe of Jesus watching
pale lipped men create
tension bells ringing
and climaxing with a tiny chaste taste
~
Who clothed me in this rag tag skin of living words?
Held hostage
~
until falling into the well
of memory is not
a relative of time
~
there is no measure in kinship
~
renascence
so unexpected
is mine
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Just a note…the word renascence popped into my head while in my own fever of writing this poem. I’ve had to look it up over and over again as, for some reason, not being familiar with it, I continually forget its meaning. The dictionary says it means birth or rebirth, which fits perfectly. Words just seem to have lives of their own sometimes….
The Poetics of Light 