2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 6

I hope the challenge has been giving you plenty to write so far. I can’t believe I’m already 6 poems deep into April (and today’s poem is probably my favorite up to this point).

For today’s prompt, write a hiding poem. You could be hiding. Someone else could be hiding. Something could be hidden. Or maybe there could even be a hidden meaning. I’m flexible with any interpretations poets want to put on the prompt. Have at it.

Here’s my attempt:

“Too Quiet”

There are times
the silence

pulls my pulse
out of me

and fills my
heart with blood

so that it
feels likely

to explode
in my chest

but then I
find little

Will hiding
and laughing

it up in
a corner

and I feel
glad to be

alive and
have a boy

who knows how
properly

to mess with
his old man.

*****

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509 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 6

  1. Jolanta.Stephens

    Unfurling of the pages
    Zipping the needles
    Hooking the thread
    Spraying the paintbox
    Gluing the brokens
    Breaking the perfectly goods
    Flying with colours
    Tangling the cords
    Hiding the creative
    Creative out to play

  2. Khara H.

    Picture perfect

    Where did you go—
    or where do you think
    you’re going.
    When questions
    pearl themselves,
    anymore I just tuck them
    away, dog-eared
    like photographs.

    In pictures of the two of us,
    like dreams, we walk
    between worlds—
    and I can press your hand
    back into mine, touch
    palm to palm.
    I can see you smile as I smile.

    And still I want to know—
    where did you go, this you
    who can keep me
    frozen in time
    even after you’ve gone.

  3. randalljweiss

    “Hide ‘n’ Seek”

    Daddy, I’m hiding under my bed. Come
    find me. So I count to 10,
    wander room to room, looking
    like I’m looking, making the game
    for her. Just before she loses
    interest, I peak under her bed.
    She dives into my waiting arms.

  4. lionmother

    Walt, this is probably the real you!! How much fun is it to post underneath this!!

    Hidden Inside of Me

    People see the calm and quiet
    demure and together woman
    who speaks in a low voice and
    sits calmly in Starbucks,
    vanilla skim latte in hand
    but they don’t know the
    fire burning inside or the
    anger waiting, peeking out
    sparked in private and only
    rarely, when it can no longer
    be tamed, flames out in public
    the fire voice strong and firm
    takes no prisoners retreats
    from no one
    demands to be heard at the
    slightest injustice
    yet it stays hidden within
    only appearing when safe
    in the confines of my home
    where the lion no longer
    need be caged.

  5. kenia_cris

    Jump

    He had been trying to tell me something
    I just fully understood when I
    found him on the carpet, dried up.

    In Gloucester, three years ago,
    a goldfish survived for thirteen hours
    after leaping out of his tank.

    He was discovered and brought back.

  6. Marcia Gaye

    Nice prompt, and a lot of things come to mind. But it being Good Friday these are what came out. So two poems today.

    Childish Things

    The baby closes his eyes
    and says, “Now You can’t see me.”
    The child runs to hide
    and says, “Now You can’t find me.”
    There will come a time
    to realize the time has come
    To put away childish things.

    No Question

    God is not hidden, We just
    don’t look for him where He is.
    Because then we’d have to make
    a decision.
    Yet to not
    look is the decision made.

  7. Dan Collins

    In Light of the Dutch Golden Age

    Inspiration must come down from God,
    from heavens above to heavens below.
    So much to unlearn, all knowledge is flawed.
    He never forgets to whom all is owed.

    From heavens above to heavens below,
    he observes and records peering through glass,
    never forgetting to whom all is owed.
    The night is funneled through small tubes of brass.

    He observes and records, peering through glass,
    making corrections to what was once thought.
    The night is funneled through small tubes of brass
    piercing the darkness of what he was taught.

    Making corrections to what was once thought,
    without fear of law he scribbles all night.
    Piercing the darkness of what he was taught,
    into dark corners he will shed some light.

    Without fear of law he scribbles all night,
    inspiration has come down from God.
    Into all corners he will shed this light,
    discovering more by which to be awed.

  8. Jane Shlensky

    Between the Lines

    Before each therapy session,
    she rehearsed what she would say
    until she did not choke in the telling,
    the words flowing smoothly, all
    the more compelling for the absence
    of emotion, moving over boulders
    of misery and pain that had storied
    her and brought her here to heal.

    Her therapist, enthralled,
    rarely stopped the narrative,
    asking few questions, always
    eager for the next installment,
    as if her life were a miniseries
    moving through his head, no
    commercials, while her steady voice
    narrated, only stopping for water
    or to regain control of herself.

    The story took a year,
    fifty chapters, fifty minutes each.
    Only then did he exhale, as if
    he’d held his breath for months,
    shake his balding head,
    wipe his eyes, and say,
    “So very sad. However do
    you manage to tell this without
    your heart breaking, like mine?”
    as if she did not feel it,
    had not lived it. “Do you cry?”
    but she was silent now, finished.

    The story stood on its own merits,
    win or lose, her tears, rehearsed
    away, were forever hidden in
    caesura, poised on the lashes
    of each ragged breath, tucked
    between the lines for someone
    with empathy to find and feel,
    the listener moved to tears
    simply because the teller
    refused to weep.
    .

  9. Walt Wojtanik

    LOST AND FOUND TRAVOLTA

    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlostandfoundandlostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostand    ndandlostandfoundandlostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostand      dandlostandfo         dlostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostan          andlostand              ostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandf           dlostan                 standfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfou          ostand             ostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfound        stand              ostandfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfounda                                         undandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundan                              and         andlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlo                         tandfo        ndlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlosta                    tandf         andlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlosta                    tan          dandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlosta    found       ta       undandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlost                            foundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundandlo                            ndfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoundand                                dfoundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfounda         andfoundan            foundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfound        standfoundandl           oundandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfoun       lostandfoundandlos         undandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfou         lostandfoundandlos          ndandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostandfo          lostandfoundandlost            dandlostandfound
    lostandfoundandlostand             lostandfoundandlost             andlostandfound

  10. Melissa Hager

    Hidden Treasures

    How many children have come to the mine
    Praying for a hidden miracle
    In the bejeweled water?
    They leave with only
    Grains of sand as mementoes
    under their fingernails.
    Still, they chat happily as if the experience
    is the most exciting activity in the world.

    Then, a couple finds a 50 carat emerald in the sluice.

    Fun is replaced by a renewed purpose –
    To be the next successful treasure hunter.
    Happy memories fade away, replaced by greed.
    Silly children. Lay not your treasures here on earth.
    Happy memories, you might take with you.

  11. Marie Elena

    Uneasy Faith (a dodoitsu)

    Lord, I give you all my keys –
    Access to all of my dreams
    All the chambers of my heart
    (except for this one)

    Lamenting no time to read/comment today (or at least since early this morning). Write on, poets! Good night!

  12. seingraham

    Alone in the Old Town

    Lost in an old town at mid-day is like stumbling through a maze
    And I confess to wandering confused and lonely, in a daze
    Being out-of-doors at siesta proved to be a mistake to this I’ll swear
    And more than once that noon-time, I offered up a silent prayer

    In southern Italia the noon sun burns hotter than the fieriest blaze
    Landscapes, lanes, buildings – all blur together to create a cloudy haze
    But then I thought I saw — a way out! A tunnel – oh my, did I dare?
    It was dark and dank, unlit throughout with stale, unmoving, antique air

    Scarcely breathing, I ran through the murk with eyes down and averted gaze
    Until at last I was out and blinded by the Mediterranean sun’s bright rays
    I stumbled for some moments blinking in the white piazza’s glare
    Finding finally a stone bench to rest on, both my lonely self and my soul to bear.

    In time, my equilibrium restored I looked about and also found a well nearby within my gaze
    Refreshed, I began to explore the town’s piazza, magnifico, and worthy much of praise
    Ubiquitous mourning doves cooed softly from the walls nearby, clinging by the pair
    And now recovered and renewed, I at once delighted as the sun moved on, felt I had not a care …

    S.E.Ingraham©

  13. Sharon

    Hidden Stories

    Hidden hopes,
    Hidden dreams,
    Like the night
    In hidden streams.

    Thoughts abound
    Wild and free
    Hidden stories
    Burning deep in me.

    Out they come
    From some hidden well
    Those hidden tales
    Only I can tell.

  14. Katrin

    Deep in the oak savannah,
    at least thirty-three nests are hidden
    within the wise complexities
    of grace

    A thousand years of
    campfire murmurs
    lie buried with the acorn shells

    The screech of nocturnal death
    hangs camouflaged on some
    rough bark

    Transparent dreams of a night under that one
    over there (No Overnight Camping) with
    you
    always hover above the hill

    And fifty-seven poems are still to be
    found as the wind rattles the leaves
    in the white oak’s late winter stories

  15. LCaramanna

    In Full View

    The April full moon on the eastern horizon
    engaged the clouds in a childish game of peekaboo
    before rising in visual splendor
    to claim center stage in the night sky.
    Venus winked at Saturn,
    a flirtatious invitation to mingle in the moonlight.
    Earthly stargazers, up-turned faces drenched in dazzling white brilliance,
    beneath the magnificent moon,
    could not conceal their awe.

  16. gtabasso

    I have gone from rebel to recluse
    in the last few years: too big,
    too busy, earning money,
    not writing, too lazy, no honey.

    When I was well, I rode a horse
    and bellydanced. Now, movies
    and friends, sleep and bed.
    Maybe it is time for a rest
    after living fast and hard,
    doing it all before 40,
    almost dying and fighting back.

    Now, I see the sun and moon,
    watch the flowerbed bloom,
    kiss the cats and let that be all
    I need. Not greedy or needy
    or trying to run the world.
    A retreat, flannel sheets,
    some peace.

  17. unscriptedlife

    Secrets in Smiles

    You look at me and see a smile,
    But you miss the pain in my eyes.
    If you’d see just one thought,
    You’d realize what I’m trying to hide.

    The judgement is unnerving.
    The sadness locked inside.
    Too many tears I’ve fought back
    All while trying to hide.

    I live each day running
    From the person locked so deep.
    The fear, the heartache, the failure,
    These secrets so hard to keep.

    But while I say this to you,
    There is no reason for sorrow.
    For every day I’m living
    Like there will be no tomorrow.

  18. Catherine Lee

    Cracker Jack Love is Not Real

    Try to explain that to someone
    Whose arm is already in the box
    Up to their sticky elbow

    Yank out the hand too fast
    And you might scrape it
    On jagged sweetness

    Let the digging hand go on
    Until it clenches on its own
    Around the shiny thing

    Better to let her watch
    The goldish ring turn
    Her last finger green

  19. Kendall A. Bell

    Harbor

    Those days when you walked meekly with
    a tawny pony tail and a baseball hat,
    kicking dirt and concealing your pain
    in outbursts and hide and seek games
    where you never wished to be found,
    seem a distant reality now that you
    have surfaced across a screen, across
    miles and miles of terrain that
    keep our fingers from touching, that
    keep me from lifting you off your feet
    in a long embrace. The years between us
    are worn into our faces, our hair both
    blonde now, our affection rekindled
    through the most unlikely scenarios.
    Your shroud has been tossed aside as
    you announce your brazen nomadic ways
    to the world, make literal red marker
    lines across the country and stick
    temporary pins in cities, smuggle your
    unrelenting warmth to the coldest regions
    while I wait here for you to uncloak
    me from the fog of your absence.

  20. Nickie

    I am tired, its late and this is the best I can do tonight (its a Tanka):

    Hungry green lizard
    walks past a motionless twig
    craving, seeking prey.
    It was natural selection
    That let the twig fly away

  21. deedeekm

    The Easter Eggs Should Have Stayed Hidden

    Took a ramble through the brambles hoping to evade the wall,
    Brightly colored, dyed and smothered, decorated all.
    I told my friends, “Escape! Escape!” and took off at a run!
    I thought that all had been hard-boiled but someone just in fun,
    Left one uncooked and as he hooked a corner round a stone,
    He tumbled o’er and hit the floor and now he’s come undone!.
    Old Humpty yes, I knew him well, a good egg through and through!
    His innards dumped, he took a fall, our sense of horror grew!
    No basket will contain our friend, no child will squeal with pride,
    For deviled be the rest of us, he might as well be fried!

  22. hurtin-heart

    Sometimes our feelings get in the way of reality.
    And we want what we know we can’t have!
    Sometimes things are not always as easy as they seem,
    And choices can cause great consequences.
    Sometimes we get tangeled in a web
    And it takes time to unweive.
    Sometimes when our hearts have been broken
    We wear it on our sleeves.
    And sometimes when love is lost
    Convincing of that fact can be hard to achieve.
    Sometimes our thoughts take us places
    And we tell ourselves,we’re a fool to believe.
    So we convince ourselves is all just a dream!
    And keep silent as we hold in the pain…….
    Samantha tinney

  23. ellanytdavve

    When I Was Four

    She scolded me to silence,
    peeking between the steps
    under the porch of her old,
    ramshackle civil war house.
    Her brother counted to ten
    as I mastered my twitchy limbs
    and choked giggles.
    There were seven of them,
    four boys and three girls.
    A wild gaggle of siblings.

    One day I got muddy
    tromping through their pasture
    in ardent play after a spring rain.
    My mud-crusted clothes were tossed
    into the ever laboring washer and
    replaced with
    boy shorts
    and a t-shirt.

    My cheeks were scarlet,
    my eyes averted,
    my play was done.
    I sat under the steps,
    waiting on my mother,
    fidgety to be out of
    those horrid
    boy clothes.

  24. Sheryl

    One day I would love to revise the last line, but it will take much longer than I have right now. That might even lead to a new title, but this will have to do for now.

    You Cannot Peek

    Peek-a-boo,
    Peek-a-boo.
    I know how to
    hide from you.

    I simply stand
    right in this place,
    and then I cover
    up my face.

    Peek-a-boo,
    Peek-a-boo,
    I know how to
    hide from you.

    I hide from you
    by what I speak.
    Into my mind
    you cannot peek.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

    .

    1. Sheryl

      I think I’ve got it!

      I’m Hiding

      Peek-a-boo,
      Peek-a-boo.
      I know how to
      hide from you.

      I simply stand
      right in this place,
      and then I cover
      up my face.

      Peek-a-boo,
      Peek-a-boo,
      I know how to
      hide from you.

      My sweet words
      obscure my frown;
      You’ll have my meaning
      Up-side down.

      Sheryl Kay Oder

  25. Arrvada

    Hidden Beneath Me
    By
    Arrvada

    There is another person beneath me
    A person only I can see
    When I look into the mirror
    I see her staring out
    But I know my eyes
    Are the only one who can see her
    She hides inside of me
    Waiting for the moment
    When it is safe to be free
    She is scared to be rejected
    Scared to be hurt
    So she stays inside where it is safe
    Never knowing what its like
    To walk inside my skin
    She stays safe within
    And slowly she will die
    Fade away until even i
    Won’t see her looking out at me

  26. carolecole66

    How to Live With a Dog

    Emma, the secretive one, won’t tell me
    where she’s been, though it’s just
    under the house sniffing for a rogue raccoon
    or up front watching through the fence
    for the mail carrier. She was always like this,
    even as a pup. She’d cut her eyes at me,
    give that secret smile and head off to the back
    down by the creek, ignore my calls until she felt like
    coming in. Her hidden life is hers, her boundaries
    firmer than my own. This is mine;
    this part we share. Her rules.
    I’ve learned to live with that.

  27. Charles Cote

    READY OR NOT

    My empathy is a weapon
    hidden in the spores
    of the attic, firebox
    smoke and ashes
    coughing from the hearth
    to the mortar crown.
    My love is a blister limping
    home to this morning’s
    coffee dark as a coffin.

  28. Monik

    Come out, come out wherever you are. Don’t just stand there behind the bar. Wishing people would accept who you are, whishing they’d stop pushing you too far. Come out, come out and free your desire don’t live your life as a filthy liar.

  29. deringer1

    This is my first try at posting a poem and I think I put it in the wrong place. So I’ll try again here.

    HIDING

    Shall I introduce myself?
    just an average person
    trying always to smile and be pleasant.

    friends? oh, sure, lots of them,
    always there when I need them
    always ready for the fun times.

    how am I? oh, just fine today
    thanks for asking.
    I am so blessed and doing great !

    Yes, my family is well,
    no, no problems at all

    how does my mask look?

  30. omavi

    “Seeking Safe Haven from Failure”

    Afraid
    Running
    Hiding
    Fear so chilling
    Bones passed point of shattering
    Skin so taunt
    As sweat profusely falling
    Ducking behind phantoms
    Plain sight becomes compelling cover
    From darkness quickly consuming
    Goosebumps a constant friend
    Heart skipping multiple beats
    Soul quaking
    Teeth chattering
    Mind no longer wants to conceive what is coming
    No longer does the body want to linger
    Epic failure silently stalking
    Beast with bloody claws
    Nightmare from which there is no abating
    Trying to shelter from the storm
    Whilst the umbrella is slowly leaking
    Success so close
    So far
    Greatness has a way of fading
    Shelf life only the blink of an eye
    Fearing confidence betrayed not abetted
    Wary of looking back
    Failure the predator always waiting
    Cloaked in brittle amour of strength
    Now even that is fading

  31. Yolee

    Everything Operates on a Curve

    And you, my Joshua tree, lit the camber
    of hidden worlds. In 1995 I was heavy
    with you in body and spirit. You also gave
    birth to the part of me God concealed
    until such a time. As with your sisters,
    there were roots in the underpinning
    of motherliness that needed your pulse,
    comeliness, and outstretched arms.

  32. J.lynn Sheridan

    “In the end”

    If
    there are
    but eleven in a
    glass sea of beliefs–
    dragons holding hands
    with Lewis’s Jeweled Unicorn
    in The Last Battle, a Roman Diana
    bathing with Apollo and the beast, lotus
    and fire, slayings and false tongues—if there are but nine
    fearing the pillar of salt, unwilling to whisk dreams and gods
    and paradises into ONE and only ONE . .
    if there are but seven drifting like
    cinnamon in yeast manna,
    fading two by two into
    despair, will you
    help us find
    each other
    in the
    end?

  33. Bruce Niedt

    Today’s other prompt from NaPoWriMo: Write a poem about an animal, perhaps in the style of one of Marianne Moore’s animal poems. I used her poem “The Fish” as a model for this poem about one of nature’s masters of camouflage, the trap door spider. (I hope this formats properly. If not, visit my blog at bniedt.blogspot.com.)

    Trap Door Spider

    hide
    deep inside
    a long tunnel that you dug
    and lined with silk, a deadly rug
    the better for slipping up and down to

    catch
    from your hatch
    camouflaged door, no welcome mat
    D-shaped, silk-hinged, false floor that
    dooms the unsuspecting creature

    who
    crawled or flew
    oblivious to your pinching maw
    to be cracked open by your jaw
    some leftovers mixed with spit

    food
    for your brood
    of spiderlings, crawling blind
    while you, one of a single mind
    lie in wait for the next meal to

    snap
    in your trap,
    eight-legged deadly jack-in-the-box
    a brutal denizen who mocks
    our placid life, our naïve trust

    to
    walk through
    our surroundings and not suspect
    there’s any reason to protect
    ourselves from such a hungry world.

    1. Nickie

      This is great! Love how you incorporated true spider facts. I had a similar idea re. a camoflauge, but was not able to come up with anything close to this.

  34. PowerUnit

    I lay under your bed
    ready to creep
    You lie your head down
    trying to sleep

    I hear your thoughts churn
    a harvest to reap
    I feel your heart burn
    no counting of sheep

    When you nod off
    your slumber so deep
    I’ll laugh and I’ll scoff
    your soul I will keep

  35. LCaramanna

    Sunshine Smiles Hide

    Repetitious rhythm of raindrops’ dirge,
    drip dropping into puddles on the driveway,
    shades the scintillating samba of a stunning springtime sun.
    Cloaked in clouds of silver gray, sky blue concealed,
    sunshine smiles hide
    until the rain cries its last teardrop,
    and the puddles on the driveway
    unveil dazzling diamond sparkle
    splendid for splashing.

  36. PSC in CT

    Another busy — and therefore, haiku — day. 😉

    You otter believe!
    Both of us startled —
    hidden (not hiding) from each.

    [NOTE: I’m pretty sure that it was an otter that I surprised this morning as I was picking up at the reservoir. Startled by our sudden face-to-face, he squeaked, dashed past me and dove into the water to swim away, and I was too surprised — and too slow — to catch a picture of him.]

  37. MiskMask

    HIDING FROM DESIRE

    This wicker wall was built by swallows
    but it kept you out and kept me in.
    It kept my blood from running thin
    when your fever was a hurricane
    and my innocence a heralder’s beacon.
    Inescapable you,
    we two,
    hot as Sahara sand
    under the hoofs on a carrousel,
    me in my hidey-hole, quiet as clover,
    and you chasing shadows down a hill.
    I never shouted Ready or Not,
    but still you always find me.
    I’m hiding from desire.

  38. Andrea B

    Delete Key

    If I could recover words
    hidden by the delete key
    I would find raw truths—
    maybe ugly, but honest

    expressions of anger
    insecurity, flippancy,
    a first gut reaction draft
    of what you really
    wanted to tell me

    but your rewrites
    are like the lines hidden
    by make-up,
    lines honestly earned
    by the bathing rays of the sun
    and the pull of the earth,
    but hidden by man-
    made shame and his desire
    to soften and smooth
    all things over

    As this plowing key
    grates away at our integrity
    and flattens our outspokenness,
    we forget we are not revisions
    of ourselves, but we are
    the seed that sprouts anew
    in its season true to
    the bathing rays of the sun
    and the sure pull of the earth

    1. claudsy

      Truths here, Andrea, that this world will always demand stay in place. Humans can’t handle the truth. Isn’t that what the one expert says who studies that one trait of humanity? You’ve presented this beautifully.

  39. Joseph Harker

    Seeds

    Today
    I am going to bury something priceless

    in that bare corner of the yard:
    claw my nails through the littered dust
    until I have made a shallow bowl
    where I will drop it

    and cover it again,
    where I will tilt my head to each side,
    convincing two tears to fall:

    they will
    catch round shavings of light,
    and that will be water enough.

    You will not find it:
    but when it comes up again

    (and it could be hollow like a promise
    or spangled with gold like a lie;
    maybe it will even wave arms and legs)

    we will be pleasantly surprised,
    having forgotten its name and shape.

    I used to think
    we conceal things for their protection,
    but now I know we only do it
    for power: I cannot tell you what it is
    that I have buried,

    only that I did, that I marked the earth,
    screwed the memory of digging into place
    and stood up again with just this,
    just one more piece of my puzzle
    that you can’t have.

    1. Jane Shlensky

      Whether for protection or power, burial/concealment is not the same as laying something to rest. You make this so beautifully clear. Love this.

  40. Sara McNulty

    April 6, 2012 – Day 6
    Write a Hiding poem

    How I Lived

    As a young woman
    of low self-esteem,
    I focused on what I felt
    were my only attributes–
    blue eyes accented
    with lines and shadows,
    thick blonde hair grown
    past my waist, a modern
    day Rapunzel. Lacking
    the daring to pursue
    dreams as a whole person,
    I pursued sex.

    Could I lure
    guys I fancied,
    into wanting me?
    Sex became my mettle;
    anticipation, heat,
    and power–my worth.
    I hid behind long hair
    fanned out on pillows,
    my eyes penetrating theirs.
    I hid out in tacky motels,
    curtains drawn,
    and in cars parked
    in secluded spots.

    One day I picked up a pen.
    One day I created a story.
    One day I was told talent lurked.
    One day I joined a writing group.
    One day I signed up for drawing lessons.
    One day I felt poetry’s pull.
    On the last day I rested,

    secure in the knowledge
    that I could expose my inside,
    which held so much more
    than my outside could hope to match.

  41. Miss R.

    Small Talk

    Is there any point in saying it
    When you’ll just stare at me blankly
    (At least you deign to give me a pause),
    Then continue on about your life
    And how important
    Everything happening to you is?

    So instead I smile and nod
    Smile and nod
    Like a pleasant maniac of a puppet,
    All the while dragging you through
    The sharp words I really want to say
    Within the safety of my mind.

    If you knew, though,
    I would tell you not to worry,
    And even now I secretly apologize.
    I will be the next to be raked
    Over the daggers of my criticism,
    And I should have been the first.

  42. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Wind Against Her Back

    Her fingers curl like lashes
    pulling the hooded fabric
    as her eyes shutter
    now too tired
    to even unravel.

    She hides her fear
    behind a cloak of anger
    where layers of wool
    warp and weft with tears.

    A darkened sigh
    slips out a button hole
    and floats upward
    to shroud the moths
    that must find the light
    or die.

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