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Showing posts from May, 2010

To the dog who tore my heart

indolent, half-lifted eyelid.
A tail wagged drowsily.
A half-whine of acknowledgment.

A limp, reluctant handshake
and taunting dejection
on not getting the promised biscuit.

A quiet, piercing stare
as the clock strikes six
that hour of his business.

An ambling unconcerned walk,
immune to tugs on the leash
and no interest in thrown balls.

Fingers clasped firmly in teeth,
a demonstration of power
that was right now not being used.

Hungry, innocent eyes
pleading for dinner, not counting
the meal consumed minutes ago.

The quiet snore,
teeth half-exposed in warning
to let sleeping dogs lie.

Just like the quiet vacuum
unfilled by furry memories
of the dog who tore my heart.

On Niceness

Yesterday, someone was nice to us.
They came home to invite us nicely
- nicely and personally -
for a wedding in their nice family.
We nicely appreciated that
someone was being nice to us.
But how nicely
does one appreciate niceness?

By saying thanks for all that niceness?
Or saying thanks for all that niceness
and also nicely pointing out
how that someone was nice
while someone not nice, someone else not nice
and someone else not nice at all
were not being nice?

I mean, if someone is nice,
let's be thankful for that, and nicely so?
Are we being nice
in not-so-nicely pointing out
how someone else was not nice?
Could one think it's like nicely saying
well, thank you for niceness
but we don't care for your niceness
because what would would really be nice
is that someone else being nice.
Is that nice?

At A Historic Site

I have before me a tourist brochure.
I think it is laughing at me.
The way ink soaked into paper can laugh.
A way that is silent, malignant.
It seems amused.
That I have come to gawk, to gape.
Where my forefather once cut down other people's forefathers.
Like that of the brochure writer's.
Or did not.
I must trust the story the ink tells me.
For the blood soaked in the ground never speaks.