Musings # 72 - Edge of Empathy (published in POEM)


No vault inside me to store

your heartache,

keep secure your secrets.

More sponge, pore-bearer,

sodden. Squeeze me

dry and empty. A wall

to hold me at safe remove?

Too cold, too far, dressed

in a long black robe. I wish

your words could wash

over me like rain

– the temperature of tears –

and as from a spun umbrella,

these drops would fly

out, out and far away.

Yes, this is a dying. But not

the skinbag-body

full of blood, sinew and bone.

Only our ideas – hovering

bubbles that life in time

will shatter and pop.

You have no clue how raw

your words rub

my own regrets,

secreted within and impossible

to remove. Forgive me.

I set the clock for

how long I can bear

to listen,

and imagine a vault

outside me. In it, I lay down

your woes – heavy

as feet encased in concrete –

lock the door,

and, for both our sakes,

throw away the key.