on the familiarity of hurt

This is how it goes sometimes:
relentless sunrises, kind words,
hot coffee, fresh sheets on the bed,
a pie in the oven, and long phone calls
with the very best of people.
All of this and I still can’t shake it,
I wonder when the fog will clear away.
The best times are always
throwing tennis balls for dogs
or paddling across the old water
to spend a morning alone
in the shadow of an empty cabin
overgrown with blackberries.
I think why blackberries?
I think why a dog, why a ball?
I list to myself the times when
I felt least alone,
I wonder when the fog
will clear away.
I slip back into society
reluctantly,
navigating always
the good intentions of others,
the hourly hazards of beauty
and comfort,
trying not to receive anything
I could not pay for, could not earn.
It’s funny actually.
Sometimes I think
there should be a parable.

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2 thoughts on “on the familiarity of hurt

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