Sample 1

Author: Nola Published: almost 6 years ago
Tags: poetry, justice Category: Poetry


The calico angel
     with raffia wings
          sits on the box
               where we keep the firewood.

A gold bracelet
     forms a crown
          above the faceless face.

Without a face,
     is touch the only sense
          that makes sense?

Is it easier to believe
     the faceless do not feel?

That a caress cannot
     span the distance
          and be grafted 
               to another soul
                    without incision?

That I am not accountable for
     embraces withheld,
          tenderness withdrawn,
               words without application?

But if I no longer feel,
     what use are senses?

© Nola Passmore; Published in Poetrix, Issue 32, May 2009, p. 13