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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

I've had a history with broken glass

At six, I pitched
two small, balled fists
through the flat of a screen
door’s flimsy pane.

It was latched shut, but
I was Superman.
The blanket cape and
bloodless wrists proved it.

Over four decades
I’ve leaped, bound
to keep fewer
delusions of super.

The last shattering
as my clench gives
a misplaced tap,
to storm window glass.

Two sputtering
crimson tongues taunt
the kerplop
of that passage.

5 comments:

brenda w said...

Wow. The last line screams to be read.

Francis Scudellari said...

Thanks Brenda... I ended up revising it a bit. The transition needed a bit of smoothing.

lucychili said...

mysterious stuff

Jena Isle said...

Amazing poetry , Francis. Your star never dwindled.

I interpret it as being hurt but being able to conquer it.

That's what's life is all about. Best regards.

Francis Scudellari said...

@Lucy Often their also mysteries to me :).

@Jena Thanks... persistence is a key element to this, but also the concessions to aging.