Interposed

sculpture hands
 
 
 
it doesn’t take much
 
a smile
a curiosity
a gentle pressing into what’s hidden 
to find
something 
 
between the clown
and the grieving woman
 
as if it were a choice
between one
or
the other
 
as if sacrifice and pleasure
sat at different poles
 
we watch the sculpter’s
hands
almost bleeding
before
the form emerges
dry and cracked
still scraping
and whittling
 
If there had been an easy
way out,
don’t kid yourself,
you probably wouldn’t have taken it
 
life is interposed 
between 
the thistle and the butterfly 
wedged
in the pavement crack 
and no less
beautiful and perfect
for it
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2 Responses to Interposed

  1. Laura says:

    I love the last stanza… Hope you’re doing well.

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