The rest of us watch from beyond the fence
as the woman moves with her jagged stride
into her pain as if into a slow race.
We see her body in motion
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We see her body in motion but hear no sounds, or we hear sounds but no language; or we know it is not a language we know yet. a great poem indeed. tony
The cluster of cells in her swelling like porridge boiling, and bursting, like grapes, we think. Or we think of explosions in mud; a very fine poem. tony