Tuesday, September 18, 2012


I still see myself with my father
on that day of another age on the church steps
watching two boys in the distance in the snow-field
fighting, rolling, punching each other.
For the first time I was sensing
how violence can be absolute and scaring
but - never confess - I was stung by envy too,
I was not going to be like those two,
I was just a child attending Mass
being kept apart from the wilderness,
the stark realm of punches in the snow, of raging
breath and reddened skin that doesn’t heed the cold.
They were gods those two and I still fear and long
for the heart of their clash, the flash
of the gods’ arms and hands clasping
each other in the snow, the very moments torn
with their gasps in the sharpness
of the livid light and the yells
hushed by the sky.
Picture that moment.

In connection with David King's latest post and his own connection with with Tess Kincaid and "The Mag" with a splendid picture by Salvador Dalì.