From far away, you see the awful truth
of me and do not flinch. How unpleasant
all these years to be warehouse for my
insane devotions, unable to requite them.
Today I walked with my wife on the beach.
It was pleasant, but false, like shaking hands
with a stranger at a party. On the way home,
dead coral slashed the bottoms of my feet.
Later, I watched seagulls soar and list, each
wing and feather perfect synergy of strength
and flex. I wept because I am not strong.
Because I cannot learn to bend.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.
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