He wants to know 

what it feels like.  I think

he is not ready for this. 

But the truth 

long suppressed,

comes bubbling 

to 

the 

surface. 

Just as,

the ancient landfill

on that local highway 

hiccups its presence 

when the wind shifts.

It feels like this: 

All at once. 

Everything, 

beautiful and painful 

in this world 

hits me with a weight 

so great it 

buckles the knees.

Never. 

Not with warning.

Maybe some Sunday 

the sound of God, 

halts me in the hum 

of our poor interpretations.

The image of Christ 

dying on the cross,

forms a lump 

in the throat so choking. 

Tears, the only words

on the blank page of a face.

A failing whisper, 

we are not listening.

The beauty of a moment 

not mine

witnessed from opposite

sides

of a crooked asphalt

street, strips me of this

thin skin. 

This veil.  Nerve 

endings exposed like 

the bright white, 

several layers deep.  Flash, 

unbearable burn.

A ribcage filling 

with love so deep

it makes a mockery of 

any before it. 

Now, 

this minute. 

Perched awkwardly beside him.

The agony of his history 

permeates the pores. 

I fight a lifetime’s worth

of wrenching sobs, he 

was too much 

of a man to make.

It feels like this, like 

the pinprick of the world could bleed me dry. 

And the fear

no one would notice.

 

— Kelly Cahill