23 March 2008, 6:23 PM
A wound remains.
Innumerable small kindnesses
press it. They cannot help but do so.
The wound is deep and long and wide,
had grown callous to insult and to injury.
Gentility rubs it raw again,
the opening of a door,
the offering of a hand, not of necessity,
nor of superiority or subservience,
but of respect and dignity
and cherishing of femininity overlooked
ignored or beaten down for so long.
The wound remains,
finds solace in your kind—
Fruit has kept such faith with Tree,
has loved me more than faithfully.
Forgive if I respond with tears and often see
my Shadows in your tenderness and chivalry.