When someone is hurting,
it is easy to say “stop hurting.” Ain’t it?
(In my chest there is a pouring cup
and it never runs out.)
Turns out, saying nothing at all
is just as bad as saying “please stop.”
(And on the cup, I mark
and remark your name.)
We’ve had this conversation
over and over. Over and over,
we’ve traced these lines like sky.
(Before, the cup upright.
After, the inevitable spill.)
Someday, a committee will build a machine
to extract all our rage, our sadnesses.
(And in my chest there is a pouring cup