On Conscience

Wrong: an early imprint on the self,
Dark & weighty, sullen as a stone
That ducks & reappears as something else,
As if to change that imprint of oneself.
Something else must break through dark to Yes,
Open doors, leave No & No alone,
Instead hear Yes & Yes imprint itself,
No longer weighty, sullen as a stone.

*

What was it that I did at four or five?
I pulled out ringlets, strands of her red hair
(Those watery eyes, pale freckled skin) besides
What did I know when I was four or five
Playing house just in the yard outside.
She took away my doll which wasn’t fair
But what is fair when one is four or five?
So I pulled out some strands of her red hair.

*

There’s more:
I’ve stolen now & then, one time a peach
Another time a word, an hour. Yes & No
Sit far apart, withheld, alive in silent speak.
Still, thieving can be sweet (think ripened peach,
Think open doors) the boundaries so oblique
One word, one hour, rescues me from No.
So stealing now & then, a word, one peach,
A slice of heart (mine, yours) may be right
& wrong.

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