Injured

Poem for not holding the kettle right

Last night I poured boiling water all over my hand. It hurt – it hurt – for hours, a persistence of pain. And downy snows, full sunshine, a half mile swim. Words, phrasing, paragraphs, familiar symbolic representation does fine with abstract concepts, but pain? A reminder of the roiling reptilian surface rumbling beneath these sentient clouds of one and one and one and one makes one.

- M. Oropeza

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