I know what it’s like
when the sun and the years
drain the pink flagging tape 
of its fluorescence
and the vines smother
the corner stakes
to rob them of their poise
when vacant land rolls
from one field into the next
and only the Spirit hovering
over the face of the deep
could breath new life
into leaning fence posts
 
God, help me 
Let me not be Fort Knox,
too cocksure and drawing lines
where no lines are needed 
Let me not belittle the doormat
for all its questionless
quiet yesses 
Let me know which no
is more spineless 
than holding my peace
Oh, to draw lines
without drawing swords 
that what’s Yours is mine
and boundaries can fall 
in pleasant places


Submitted: September 15, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Nicola Bik. All rights reserved.

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Michael Chad Cleary

Nice piece of work. Struck a chord with me because we talked about this exact thing in therapy this morning. I am not a therapist--I'm a patient. LOL

Thu, September 15th, 2022 3:18pm

Debra Bush

I like the first stanza on it's own better, but I see where you're coming from, I think.

Thu, September 15th, 2022 7:43pm

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