by James Diaz
From where I had been
sitting, to now, shaking
off the rain,
remembering what objects
went into which drawers,
refilling certain jars,
and leaving others empty-
everything, incredible
or dull, as it had been
before- suddenly changed-
I could begin to believe
that we could learn we
were not so awful,
to each other, yes,
still at times-
but to all that we could
never know of ourselves,
was perhaps the greatest
amount of kindness, that
needed only words, yet
didn’t know how to be named-
and maybe, would never speak
‘itself’, even if it could,
As I crossed the street, as I
went home, as I peered into
things, took everything closely,
under the eye, the nose,
the nervous nap- I began to
trust that I would not have
to answer for any of it.
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