It’s not the first time
(and never the last time)
that a poem found me
like a smoke of a blown out candle
that’s still very much
T H E R E
even without the flicker. . .
Fragile
by Nic Askew

We are fragile. You and me.

Though we act strong,
our lives are
held together with
thoughts of where
we might be tomorrow.
And of disappointed
yesterdays.

At any moment we might shatter.
We might fall to our knees
weighed down by the terror
of being so far from
our own control.

Dare we look up, we’d not know
where to go or what to do.

We are fragile. You and me.

If we were to turn to each other,
we might see the whole world
on their knees.
Hurting, and seemingly
alone.

But none of us are.

We are fragile together.

P O E T R Y
can never be framed in
if it’s genuinely vulnerable
and
RAW
FRAGILE
DIS-EASED
(which birthed this):

We are so careful
now
not to be contagious
not to give
what’s so very much
not wanted
needed
sought

I want to give you
so much more
fragile
frail
and maybe even as
deadly

You
I want to give you my
DIS-EASE
my rawest dis-ease
my naked un-comfiness
a nothingness
more intimate
more life-ending
I want to give IT

A most feeble Communion
to give
to receive
accepted