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Golden Shovel #1: truth in G #: old-infirm-mary
after Gwendolyn Brooks's
"Old Mary" & "truth"
Turning again this spade of gold,
I rehearse scenes from an infirmary.
Charting horizons of mourning haze in my
Head, fierce dread comes hammering to last,
Settling in a dear thick shelter of defense.
How hard, heavily firm, I prayed for th-th-th-is—
To feel sweet, snug coolness, the
Way I remember, always in the present
As memories are, loosed from tense
Unawareness, a door ajar, yet dark. It
Remains familiar, because little
Has changed by the lengthy hurts,
Sessions with shade shimmering in me.
Flashes come one after other, shudder now,
As before, with a fear to weep, to flee, to, to,
To sleep all through the night-years—and to know
all these years, my senses seizing as I
recollect—that hurt happens now. And it shall
Be through...