TURBINE | KAPOHAU

GAIL INGRAM

A failing

You said I lack empathy.
Perhaps you mean I am cold to touch,
my shoulder, my cold
lack being a willfulness
not to give in, a righteousness
you named rightly, I suppose,
but it’s a cruel label
and I’m terribly
hurt 

you did not see me

swoon over the sharp blade
of your spade, gone through
the pale flesh
of wild mushrooms on the lawn, I felt
that death 

which I admit
happened in a poem, in the abstract,
and it was not your spade 

but still it is true
I am touched
by unimaginable things,
and I am sorry
you do not see
this side of me,
truly.