Click Page 49
You Could See|
As he leaned into the Blade of Time,
Cheryl A. Rice
you could see how he whittled himself down
to bone & word, how his poems became
ninja stars, tender, perfect points.
You could see year after year,
as clothes slid from his body, his belt
tighten, loose ends dangling like sash of
a Zen master’s robes, how his two legs became
three, the newest of hobbled wood.
You could see brain and body parting ways,
reluctant divorce, but still the Blade, burnished
words shining in our ears. We had no right to
beg for more.
Tsunami of poems trickled to a
thin stream of blood, our hands left full of
evaporated skin, the Brooklyn Dodgers, a tulip,
a full cup to toast the man who beat back the Blade.