what is there to do
on a day like today, when
the sky hangs heavy in
my tired palms, when
the knot in my sternum
wrings all my words
out, dull puddles on
the air-conditioned tile
grief and gratitude
make confusing roommates,
cohabitating in something
not like war, not like
harmony, i am an
acoustic strum in
an empty house, front door
racketing on
rusty hinges
remember, as children,
how we fought to best
one another at
holding our breath, who
could have known we
were training
for the art of scraping
hope free from the
hardship, mining meaning
from the hollow ground
michael king 