confronted with cause

September 8, 2010 Posted by the writer

confronted with cause

He has a touch like music.
The kind that gets stuck in your head.
We picked fruit from the same vine.
Baskets filled with seasons.
Filled with ways that water sustains.
Ways that sunlight pulls roots.
Out of the ground.
A world of burials piling on top.
Stacked reasons of why.
And I thought I was fast.
Before I could open my mouth.
Frozen in line of a stare.
Melted by putting past.
Beyond clench fist demand.
Dropping what doesn’t.
Release of reaffirm.
There are things.
In this world.
And I wanted to tell him.
Open heart surgery.
Who you are.

About the writer

gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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