No I was told
to say
If you do
not see their
coins
if they have only
small
belongings
tell them
No
But his eyes cut
into my
throat and I could
not breathe
or look away
for
then I would
have had to stare
at her
skin her hands her
eyes even more commanding
Yes
The old man
who had told us
stories
every evening after evening
spoke in my
mind
It
could be
you it has been us
All is
still
I was the
only one in the door
Come I said
you can at least
(and then
the air swirled and I knew
the dream in
his eyes was my hunger
long denied)
Come I said
Be warm
Your child shall
not be
denied
8 December 2017
[Even though very many
of the eyes that scan this place have looked at these words, in other sendings,
the poem is persistent. So it is here. And so are we. And so is the Child in us
all. Nothing of grace can be denied.]
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