You were imprinted on my fingertips

A legacy of refusals?

written as a dim memory

in line and skin

I kept you at arms length

or balled you into a fist


As a child

it is true

I was taught

to expect some relationship


So impressed into the feverish

tribe of  Jesus watching

pale lipped men create

tension bells ringing

and climaxing with a tiny chaste taste


Who clothed me in this rag tag skin of living words?

Held hostage


until falling into the well

of memory is not

a relative of time


there is no measure in kinship



so unexpected

is mine


Just a note…the word renascence popped into my head while in my own fever of writing this poem. I’ve had to look it up over and over again as, for some reason, not being familiar with it, I continually forget its meaning. The dictionary says it means birth or rebirth, which fits perfectly. Words just seem to have lives of their own sometimes….

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