Catching a Menace
I'm trying to catch a menace on purpose, and I keep getting so close. Close
enough for it to notice, close enough to read the look on the eyes saying, "This
is a true warning. You don't want this. This is not for you."
Sincerity.
But I'm acknowledging my comprehension while placing a foot in front of me for
a dare-me-step with a sarcastic smile on my face.
There's a thunderstorm in the background and I'm wincing at the lightning and
waiting on anticipated breath for the sound that's already gone by. Thunder
before lightning the further your center is. Sound before light traveling from
the same point. I hear you knocking but I'm not seeing yet. Your words aren't
matching the movement of your lips and I'm not close enough to be lightning
struck.
I run my finger along the scab on the hand I used to speak to you. The sound
of knuckles crushing drywall you missed, but the sight lives in the clenched
fingers of a fist. The sound of bone and cartilage making room for a wall you
missed, but the sight lives in a trembling hand. Sight before the sound of my
voice explaining explaining explaining away the passion the violence the heat
the beat the rhythm the mercy the beauty the vulnerability the life the death
all in the same breath.
November 8, 2005