A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.
Foolish Gold
Wash your hands before you touch
The heart of the problem,
The wound issues, puss, water, blood and mineral
All coagulating around a stone spear point
–
“It was not you who scraped the bones, who taught the body
How to suffer pain silently, to cry out without muscle movement or vocal vibration,
To char the skin, tear out the hair and beat the lungs to pulp”
But, he is not a memory.”
–
I stood by the banks of the sea one morning watching for him
And when I finally laid my eyes to rest on his white shoulders
He turned and he smiled
There is a place for healers and hopers
Maniacs and madmen
We who wash away a little more with each remembering
In a hospital gown
Golden with our hands in salt water
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