Poems and Poetry

Distances | A Poem by Marie MacSweeney

I willed your wound
to heal itself
in passing days,
each silent exhalation
to rid you a little
of your hot grief,
to be swiftly slain
in cooling air

but you seemed
to inhale it again
in scalding gasps,
hour after solitary hour,
until it burned in you,
a bright phosphorous
rooting into flesh

and there was no way
I could push aside
the air and wind
and still
your gathering hurt.

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