Featured Poem
I am good at pattern recognition,
dentifying intent
with a one-second glance.
I read internal states from external gestures;
learned early to know if a lifted hand
would caress or make hard landing.
My bare legs have known the kiss
of an elm-tree switch,
the swift snap of a leather belt;
I have danced in place to escape
the red fire of pain.
I can tell you this in secret, a confession
between comrades, because
you will believe me.
I understand your eyes,
the eyes that searched for protection
from your protectors.
All tears are the consistency of blood
without red cells.
A body can weep
hot jewels of blood while eyes
hold back the water of release. You were
not allowed to protest
or raise your voice
or run
or hide
or even die
You held your spirit;
did not breathe it out or allow it to
cascade down your face.
I am good at pattern recognition; I knew
when I saw the dam of locked tears.
We are veterans of the same war.