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Grace
by Richard VinceGrace and timing are all it takes,
As if anything that matters is
Ever that simple.
My thumb hurts where I have
Used it to hold a pen far too
Infrequently of late, as though
My right hand has aged as
The youthful flow of words has
All but dried up.
And yet, suddenly, I am young again:
Avoiding sleep in the small hours in
The house I grew up in, writing lines
And lines of nonsense, and
Feeling like an outsider.
Perhaps that is what it has
Always been about; perhaps that is
Why I have always struggled to
Accept that I did things
The way I did.
It always seemed so easy
For everyone else: they made friends
Without really trying, and
They were able to talk to people
While I was left dumbfounded
And trying not to stare.
They had grace and timing, but
My movements were always
Awkward and stilted. There is
A great dance of which
I am not part.
12/30/2013 Posted on 01/07/2014
Copyright © 2025 Richard Vince
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 01/08/14 at 09:38 PM I really relate to this poem. Boy do I ever! Empathetic through and through. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/11/14 at 01:17 PM wonderfully expressed, Richard. it seems a poet's condition, to be socially awkward and outsider, and fluent only as his ink and introspection is concerned. |
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