At the reading of Legends 2, currents ran through the room,
empowered with possible outbursts of anger and outrage
over the broaching of old sorrows and shames, laying bare
the need for care, forcing the depths of intentions and
expectations to the surface, and around which
we gingerly trod in the aftermath
with feet too large among the hurts
and family prides, feeling our way forward
through questions and answers, first as a group
and then one by one as individuals lingered
to find a way to say something, anything
about buried rage and grief from long ago,
pains so very near, yet still unable to circumvent
omerta silence, which was wound like a wall around
some of those there, leaving only nuances
for the heart to decipher.
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1 comment:
Wish this weren't so true. But at least you've given it a depth and beauty I'm rarely objective enough to consider.
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