Saint Julian Press Poet
Thomas Simmons
THE BODY OF HOPE
Embodied, we tend either
to discount it
Or to think it strange and
foreign, a persistent
Nuisance––the place
we scratch repeatedly
Without knowing why, the
certain shiver
We feel when, next to us, a
certain stranger
Sits down on the bus. That sense, paradoxically,
Of being "out of
body"––not really possible,
Of course, unless one is also
immanently subtle
In one's presence. Here you are. And quietly,
As if a breeze had
crossed the entire Sea of Galilee
And stopped where you are
sitting at the outdoor cafe,
Here I am. This was my privilege and my right, to
die
To show you we can come and go,
as we choose.
We worry so much.
. .What will the children lose
If we go? The children of suicides watch silently
Over their
broken stories. The stories are fine,
Though loss is grief and grief quotidian. . .
Here I am. It is not illusion or desire alone,
This feeling that you
have. I am not in your
Imagination. However far you
feel, I am as near
As your heart is
lost––at once the recompense, the cost.
PRESS RELEASE
POET
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Simmons * ISBN-13: 978-0-9986404-0-2
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ISBN 10: 0-9986404-0-9
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