by Erina Booker

I run my finger
along the groove between
bone and withered muscle,
and for the first time (ever)
you move my hand away –
don’t want me to think
about the savage ravages,
so serious about your role:
holding up my world,
no questions,
any lengths,
taking the weight –
I defer; we will go gentle
into that good night,
raging never brought success,
whereas the strength of the gentle
is limitless;
“Here”, I say, “lower your shoulder,
roll the world onto me;
I can take the tsunami
and the ‘quake;
all you have to do
is keep breathing;
I promise
not to drop

©Erina Booker 2015

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