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Kyle
by Aaron BlairI was brewed in a cauldron.
Exotic ingredients: my grandfather's name
and the apple that gleamed in my father's eye,
the fruit of the poisonous tree,
roots planted deep in the black of the earth.
Some days I imagine myself an archaic physician,
believing that the cut is the cure for everything,
with what ails me washing away in the red that follows.
I was touched by the healing at the site of every scar.
It hurts to imagine that I came into this world perfect,
a blank slate scrawled on by too many malicious hands.
To admit to being broken is to admit to being able to be fixed. 09/04/2010 Author's Note: Kyle was my grandfather's name. It's my middle name.
Posted on 09/04/2010
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Johnny Crimson on 09/09/10 at 12:32 PM "a blank slate scrawled on by too many malicious hands" That's just beautiful. p.s. No author's note needed. Great write Aaron! |
| Posted by Stephan Anstey on 09/09/10 at 02:34 PM love that opening line. |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 09/09/10 at 09:16 PM I agree with Stephan; that opening line is awesome. And the last line, as with a lot of your writine, makes me wish I had written it. |
| Posted by Mo Couts on 10/20/12 at 02:42 AM My, my. Bitter and painful, but with such intent behind it. You had me hanging on for dear life. |
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