Corps memory

 

She turns towards me while opening the door

— The two cavities under her collarbones,

dark under the scorching lightbulb —

— Her shirt now three sizes too small —

Never have I seen her so frail, so hesitant

— Her angular silhouette penciled on the floor,

unnerving now, even more so later when —

Her lips parting, her voice hoarse and spent

— Her spindly fingers crooked on the handle —

She fades, featherly light, as grief wanes

 

Handshook

 

All it took was a handshake

to unsettle the masculined gaze

All it took was a kind look

– the warmth of a handshake –

for him to avert his teary eyes

All it took was a “Hello, Jack”

– the second-too-long handshake –

to expose the chink in the armour

to make him chin-on-chest humble

All it took was the simple kindness

– a handshake like an embrace –

of one who fought unseen battles

recognising one fighting another

telling them without stoic prattle:

“Feel no shame, and be brave, brother.”