Handwringer
humans have done it,
subconsciously,
across culture and history,
probably since we lived
in the caves
for the ability to survive
is always in doubt,
not matter how many
pretty panels
we build between us
we duck, we scream,
we run, our eyes widen
(to gather as much light
[information] as possible)
but sometimes the danger
rolls slowly toward us–
it sees us, and we
cannot escape
we feel our options
wash away like
soap down the drain
and that is when
the ancient instinct
kicks in–we fear
action means death, so we
wring our hands
excusing our cowardice
by pressing our flesh together
to announce to
That Which Approaches
that we are out of the fight
no raised fist, no bared teeth,
no battle cry,
we press our hands together
and wait for others
to act
4 thoughts on "Handwringer"
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I like the caps on That Which Approaches because it could be any number of things. Good job.
Thank you, Victoria.
So much truth here! Love these lines –
“not matter how many
pretty panels
we build between us”
Powerful poem!
Thank you so much, Sylvia. I wish I had caught my typo–it should have read “no matter how many”. Thank you for your encouragement!