Dropping pretensions is a bit
presumptuous. Prying parts
that have grown into the matter
with us, gotten under our skin
is beyond the cosmetic surgical
scalpel’s perimeters.
What about that gut feeling which
roils at reminders why so&so made
a miff in one’s middle organs and along
the long intestinal road – that fortitude
has forgone, forgotten, leaving its host
forlorn, not knowing how to return to
the lungs for a needed grief session.
Yet, in that despair is undoubtedly where
with a glimmer of care, awareness can
emerge, the dirge of self & projected
retributions can flow out and float into
the cloud of unknowing, dissipated into
no where, the face off.
—Martha Ward
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