114 – The Pea & The Claw

The Pea & The Claw

Once I would’ve cursed the runner
when we collided on the bridge.
He cut the corner (or did I?)
and left bleeding, stumbling
down the ramp. His frightened hand
pressed my chest. His face is a blur
I make up.

Lately my mind is full of this: a pea
attended to by a shoot, silver-white
and tailing. A tremulous light at work
being a tremulous light, lit some unknown way.
It needs help, I know–how do I know?
–to survive in the void.

So when I shouted, “Jesus,
fuck!” it wasn’t to turn the runner
to a pillar of stone, raze his crops
and salt the land. In that harried instant
I called down protection on us all, against
the curse every man knows and its rooting
claw, dark, digging to unseat
such sudden sprouting.

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