Friday 3 May 2013

The Hand That Hurts

At the other end
Of a chastising hand

Sting on the face
Broken nose
Spinning head

Blood-flow unchecked
Child’s body falling over

Love is uncertain

Tender arms enfolding
A hold that grows
Too tight

Creeping hand groping
The child’s privacy

And all the mothers
Drinking tea in the warm kitchen
Bend over laughing

Almost choking
On their biscuits

Red faces paler
Than that of the child

It isn’t true to say
The hand that hurts
Is the hand that heals

The hand is impotent
And cannot undo the done

And there is no wound
To speak of or look at

It too has its privacy
Finding its own destructive
Consolations committed
To its own annihilation

No comments:

Post a Comment