Love of Hate of Love

I practice punching
at the kitchen table
on the couch
in my sleep
I make a fist
study the veins that press out
against the skin of my forearms

I see my life there
heritage of hate
the blood runs thick:
my rage, my joy
the tender twisting of the two
competing
contradicting
– my love of hate
rising in my pulse
with the power of perceived necessity.

I make a fist
and see my life there

Then I pause
release
breathe
lay down my hand
let it rest on the kitchen table
beside the gentle whorls of woodgrain

I study the stillness
and the weight of reality hits
as I wonder
if my narrow fingers
veins
running the length of my forearm
would still look this way
if I took it too far
would still look this way
in the stony stillness of death

I practice punching
at the kitchen table
hating your hate
but now I ponder your reaction
if I hugged rather than hit

I hate your hate of love
but
now I realize
your hate of love
makes my life powerful –

now I realize
just being
I hit
like a heavy
hammer

 

Originally published by Another New Calligraphy, April 2022