Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Fourteen

A letter.
A word.
A symbol
of time.
Yes,
you can hold it.
The back end of a spoon,
the sharp edge of a knife,
cutting,
always cutting,
like so many horseless nights.
It isn’t fair
I tell you.
This back and forth dance
of death.
Waltzing
without knowing the steps.
You leading me.
Me leading you.
Up library steps.
A book in your hand
a pen in mine.
Writing down history
while we make our own.
Funny
this isn’t how I thought
a pear should be eaten.