Page 26

PERIPIPTO

You have fallen (small thud) a soft infinite sound landing on the balcony. I see you. Withdrawn in wings patched with shreds of dark you’ve torn from the night with your teeth. I see you. Retreating deeper into your fur—hairs stolen from the devil’s groin or armpit. I see you, trembling. Want to help somehow, but I’m unsure. If only you could see the real you as something other than a bête noir but for years you’ve been rejected more times than sewer rats. Now, only millimeters small, don’t you resent your legacy of grief? How can I confront your ancestors’ rage—or is it too late? Soaring, you spin around confused in day’s bright hour. I still haven’t baptized you (Peripipto, where my eye

26

Profile for cusoa

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

Profile for cusoa