The way I
cupped the past
my hands began to tremble
and revealed everything
about this rusted bayonet.
As I ran my finger over its jagged triangle
the cruelty of its purpose
radiated into my experience
and a rare brain filament
lit through agitation.
A red flash of blood
on my lips dried
and I was loath
to allow a breath to escape
for fear of whose words
it might release.
The way I
cupped the past
blood of an unknown man,
a hundred and fifty-five years ago,
pulsed my stomach
and constricted
like his at the sundering impact.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
