Escape
When the silence is as taut as a violin string
the rest awaits as you climb past the invitation
of an open window, your day in shopping bags
that redden the joints of your hands, as if you
wait helpless at a busy junction, the heavy trucks
that throw warmth and grit in your face,
this is graceless, like worn slippers under a hospital bed
or an unread letter full of secrets, next to a glass full
of whiteness, rooms full of old cameras and shavers,
as if everything could be started, not just this
ring of concerned faces and mumbles at doorways,
you cannot leave as an angel, you are full of broken glass.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
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