That Which Hurts

        By Rudolph Lewis

With hands older than night chaotic

& fingers of the dead under baobab

trees, we’re aware everybody who

speaks of heaven will not go up

Yet forgive today’s crimes against

us for tomorrow’s mirage. Hungry

we are unexpected at the feast

for those with algebraic digits

First they knife the surplus, then

with coded words & the dark spit

of contempt show us the cliff

All in this land take note, here is

our welcome from our neighbors

—rhinos nuzzle black buttocks

Responses

Rudy,  I like this, especially the lines "yet forgive today's crimes against us for tomorrow's mirage."  A part of me wants mirage to be miracle, but mirage suits the poem better I think.  –Jeannette

Nicely delivered message with excellent imagery –Kam

posted 5 January 2005