Author: Wanda Wesolowski
How strange it is: a few curious moments
we just so happen to be reading
like a story. we are pushing limits.
we empathize. and the weight of ones hands
seems to be all we can can relate to.
but what does a face do
when contorted with grief?
is the rest just gone? are we painted
on plaster, weightless,
beaten gold, coming to the fore?
we’re mere things in space.
with unbelievable risk, we get a little bit of it back
but the rest? just thrown into shadow.