Cripple
by Rose Mary Boehm


Watches the child,
suffers the loss
of something
he never had,
longs for a fire
which may redeem
his isolation.

Absence is stalking him.
He longs for the heat
of her small,
prepubescent body,
feels his spaces
fill with warmth.

Tied onto the wheel of recurrence
he fears nothing but exposure.






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