Suffering

By Alisha Davlin

“I could be a rabbi,” she muses.
He smiles out of politeness, not knowing this language yet.
“Other people’s pain doesn’t bother me, perhaps because mine happened so young.”

Suffering opens an armchair beside you before a shimmering fire. Sit here and hand me your heart. I will cup it in both hands. Suffering recognizes itself like mercury beads recombining after being scattered across an eternity of ground.

But innocence abhors suffering.
Winged, rosy-cheeked, breathless,
it disappears into the hollow of a tree without even glancing back.
While this new you stares after it with arms

outstretched.

––––––––––
“(I write) to make a ripple in the silence.” – the writer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s