What Is Left by Paul Schweer
[Discuss this article (0 replies)]
[Download this article in PDF format]
I was hoping I was
hoping we could heal
each other
-- Alanis Morissette
"Is there a first aid kit?" she says.
Not that I can see.
"Maybe somewhere," I say.
"What do you need?"
"Some tape for my wrists."
And I know what she means.
"There is some in my bag,"
I say. "Hold on."
She tries to tear a piece, just a little bit
to send a signal. A silent request.
Her wrists are darkening,
strands of bruising circling her arms.
"This happens," I say, "every time you come here."
"They don't mean to."
"Let me help," I say, and take the tape -- a strip of white,
one end to bare skin -- carefully
covering her battered wrists.
***
There is a door mat. There is sunlight; there are shadows where
the mat meets the double glass doors going outside.
A bit of cranberry bliss, or maybe a piece of a thick slice
of no-sugar-added banana nut bread, stands tall
on the ceramic tile, casting a shadow over small crumbs.
It is a mess,
somebody's accident.
I didn't make it,
couldn't have prevented it.
I am just trying to enjoy what is left -- the residue of
coffee and milk, faint trace of an artificial sweetener.
Lingering last taste of yet another cup made like all the rest.
Anticipated -- souring my breath. Coloring my teeth brown.
[Discuss this article (0 replies)]
Paul Schweer began his aikido practice in January 1998. He is a
student at Shindai Aikikai in
Orlando, Florida. You can see more of his work at www.seenwaking.com. | 
