move on


Two sit
face in face.
His face
hears her pain.
She hears her own pain.
She's moving on.

They sat
Separated by a master's
going on a Ph.D.,
so respectable-the Teacher-
not the taught.
You are called by your first name.
My first name is Doctor.
I bet you wish you were my wife.
Hear an apology?
She's moving on.

Two others,
we sit.
Phone tag! 
You're it!
Your voice spreads across my chest
where ribs still hold prisoner
a sunken dare or two.
Truth Tellers
and Spirit Dwellers,
We are becoming,
as we're moving on.

Two, three are many.
We stand to speak our hearts.
Do I lift my face to receive
that dry kiss of fear?
This kiss I wipe away to say
these lives written here,
underlined by days of hurting
are by human right our own:
OURS to interpret,
to mourn, to be born, to celebrate.
You heard me.
Yes, our RIGHTS are
as human as our WRONGS.
You got it.
We're moving on.

Web O' Poems