Resistance

For you
resistance was waiting
and hiding your metal sparks.

For you
resistance was holding
your stone hands
against the sandpaper.

For you
resistance was arising
from his sleeping bed
dawn after dawn

and clawing a tunnel
fistful by fistful
behind the attic bookshelf
through the peeling paper
the plaster
the wood
the tangled wires
through the dirt
into the woman-petaled azaleas.

Copyright Kay Winter

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