Syracuse, NY 13210
Volume 11, 2011
Poetry and Grace
Poetry is not grace;
it can’t absolve
a sinner, or replace
lost faith, or solve
Conundrums by what’s learned
beyond the grave.
But it is swift, unearned,
and it can save.
Her hair was black; she looked young and alive.
I knew that what she needed was a hug
and gave it to her. We just stood there hugging.
I didn’t try to ask her any questions.
I seemed to feel her presence was enough.
It felt so good! I’d never dreamed about her,
and it’s been years. So, that was all there was.
I know it sounds too simple when I say it,
but afterwards, you know, when I woke up
and thought about it, how she looked and felt,
it was like I had somehow solved the puzzle.
We’d all been searching, wondering all that time,
perplexed and angry: Why? How could she do it?
She did it. What she needed was a hug.
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