Show Me What Kindness Looks Like
Show me what kindness looks like.
So in the darkness, he touched her arm—
once milk-white silk-clad
trafficked now, elbow to wrist,
in one line of hope after another.
Touch my wounds with kindness.
So in the darkness, he touched his muscle of remembrance—
what he could neither see nor make believe.
Kindness never gets you an audience.
And so he said—
faith is always tested
stitches always itch.
Pray kindness takes me.
So in the darkness, he touched—
lips to air, feeling the weight
of edging tears
rending frail-woven endings.
Speak kindly of me when I'm gone.
And so he turned once more to after—
the grip seeded of limits
letting go but one quick second
before turning red again with his single heart's pulse.
Copyright © 2010 Maureen E. Doallas. All Rights Reserved.
I wrote this poem for today's Blog Carnival and for Carry On Tuesday #41.
The Blog Carnival, a biweekly online event open to anyone, is sponsored by Bridget Chumbley at One Word at a Time and Peter Pollock at Rediscovering the Church. Today's prompt is "kindness". Go here for a list of links to all of the contributions.
Carry on Tuesday provides each week as a writing prompt a quote that is to be used wholly or partly in original prose or poetry. The prompt for February 23 is the opening line from Michael Crichton's 2004 novel State of Fear: "In the darkness, he touched her arm and said. . . ." Go here for a list of links to all of the participants' sites.