Compassion
As soon as I pull the splinter from my palm the little wound calms down
knowing it finally has my attention
it doesn’t have to shout anymore
I interrogate the dark- sharp sliver of wood pinned to a tweezer with my skin cells and dirt
looking exactly like the broken tip of lead from a mechanical pencil
I let it fall to the kitchen table like a tear
What was a tiny enemy
now small
and frail
pitiable
I decide not to punish it anymore.
It didn’t want to hurt me
after all
but we come into contact with the world as it is
The time for keeping has come to an end.
It rolls off the table
glides to the floor
disappeared
All that’s left on my palm is a small red mark
that will likely be gone in the morning.
I decide not to punish you anymore
either.
I should have tended to my own wounds
before
damning
yours
6 thoughts on "Compassion"
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Ooh, strong ending with such a true sentiment.
Thank you!
Great metaphor for letting go of what causes us pain. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you !
Letting go is not an easy task, and your use of language and metaph0r encourages the process in small steps. The title of the poem encompasses the true meaning.
Thank you!