Full-Throated Praise

It has come. An end—punctuated by this visible period [.]

As the snow melts so has soreness. Although, the incision—

Invisible. Ice water dissipates on surfaces outside. The scar

Hidden. Only when I swallow is there selective memory; brought

To mind by the gray squirrel scurrying across the soaked knoll.

A select something in his mouth. Of soreness, none I imagine.

He will not die and neither will I. If only he had turned to look

At me. I would have given him full-throated praise. Because I

Wanted too. Because I could have. Because I would have.


© 2016 emmett wheatfall
All Rights Reserved

Comments