Poems

In the Shape of Fear / Eden Kupermintz

How is there not a word
for being in the presence of truth?
That feeling of being punctured by a
silver dagger
and then cold, steel water rinse
the silver wound, while your face opens
in the shape of fear.

How is there not a word
for being in the presence of life?
That feeling of tiny legs running across
your icy skin
and then boiling, hissing water rinse
the aching skin, while your heart opens
in the shape of fear.

How is there not a word
for being in the presence of dream?
That feeling of passing through a
cerulean screen
and then bubbly, translucent water rinse
the pulsing brain, while your eyes open
in the shape of fear.

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