25

My enemy may laugh
Drily, harshly, bitterly.
The joke is myself,
The youth I'd just as soon forget,
Futile as forgetfulness is

There's always someone who does remember
And that one might be anywhere, so that
The smile contains a secret we cannot read
But ever suspect, keeping our distance:
A horse in brambles too shy to move.

Some are born uncalloused. Others
Achieve a softening through suffering,
Their own and others, of which I'm the type.
That, great as my cruelty has been,
I can taste the skin of the apple

As children do, for sugar hint,
Promise and reward, so that
The inedible core, thrown
Will-lessly, to no purpose,
Bears a tree—a whole world!


© Dan Goorevitch, 1998