like someone
in a foreign land
with a daypack
of only your own
provincial tongue.
Poems are meant
to speak in metaphor,
but this is your truth,
your horrifying truth.
I know you
only so much.
Even so,
this much I know:
Every atom of oxygen
you would have forgone;
deeply into alien earth
you would have sunk;
a ravage of tears
you did, indeed, weep.
All to keep
her breathing,
all to keep
her here.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
Friday, December 16, 2011
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