Granite Hope

It is possible to hold this
poem in your palm, to handle
it even while you know that there is
no way you will ever
train it.

This poem will never
be domesticated, never
be tamed with our maimed
freedom. No this poem
has always been
fiercely free,
always soul,
always otherly
incarnate. It was
never mine.

This poem now palmed might
bite, or perhaps shape
shift into a stone:
in lithe liberty
it will then be
a silence that
demands my hearing,
that calls my ears to
attend to
granite hope.

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4 thoughts on “Granite Hope

  1. shoreacres says:

    I think it’s so interesting the way you shape poems about poems. This one brought to mind the “worry stones” that used to be in vogue. From the first lines, I already saw the poem as object: as a rock to be turned over and over in the hand, just as truth is turned over and over in our hearts.

    There’s some irony here: while the poem shape-shifts into stone, the granite hope helps soften our hearts.

  2. Love this, Allen. Words that can be handled, but never domesticated.

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