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Nov 142010
 

by
Ron Yazinski


Gravity comes in many flavors.

Of course there’s love, like the moon around the earth,

A child around a father,

Close enough to brush burn their hearts against each other’s,

In those tender years before and after they disappoint each other;


And then there’s the flavor of guilt,

Like lava in the blood,

Like the earth around the sun.

The wife who threatens her husband

That if he ever leaves her,

She’ll throw herself in front of a truck.

And because words like that were killing him, he called her bluff,

Which was really a promise,

Lingering the last of her life in a nursing home,

Silently staring through each daily visit.