Every word
pulled forward in fear,
Every word a risk.
Yet you I crave
I taste;
I hunger for you deeper.
Who are you?
If burning pot
then melt me,
If earthquake
make me tremble,
If knife
then bleed me well,
If carpenter
then assemble,
If you are steel
then make me feel
the firmness of your touch.
I am battered child:
I give you my fear.
I am strength:
these walls I’ve broken
with bleeding hands
I lay now at your feet.
I am stupid:
I surrender all this
before you’ve asked
a single thing.
I am anything
but eloquent.
Yet you I crave
I taste;
Still hunger I you deeper.
And every word’s pulled
forward in fear,
Every word’s a
risk.
© Sabrina Santa Clara, 1987