July 12, 2021 – Los Angeles: Dean Blehert is a Virginia poetry teacher, poetry editor and has had seven poetry books published.
The featherbed, we say, “gives,” meaning
it accepts one’s shape. Water gives (ice doesn’t).
Air gives. The givers give way, wrap themselves
around us, shape themselves to us, receive and
release us easily with a sigh or kiss
of gentle suction or a rustle of sheets
or a smile in brimming eyes.
What can you be given? Apparently yourself,
or your own form shaping another,
apparently the right to be part of and
separate from another.
What you can be given
depends on the gentleness
of your asking: If you hit the water too hard,
it becomes stone. If you force yourself
through air too fast, it shudders, splits,
jolting you, claps together behind you (BOOM).
Violence shatters whatever opens to embrace you;
splinters stick to you; the violent never have
anything whole, never leave anything
Dean Blehert resides in Virginia.
Copyright © By Dean Blehert. All Rights Reserved.