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

now I realize
just being
I hit
like a heavy


Originally published by Another New Calligraphy, April 2022

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