Why stronger? Why not butterfly wings and the silent bend of grass under flagstone
the restless hum of hearts, immortal longings
a child on a bicycle—prey to the wind
and his own whisper of a body, nubbin reflexes and the little legs pumping furiously
Why not a soft throat, the snap of stems, the soundless death of snow in heat
the quiet burden of roofs
every tear that drops, a line erased
Whatever does not kill me makes me stronger
Where is the beauty in that? The grace?
Even the hardest rock chips away at the sculptor’s hands, lives are
fashioned in yielding
the body flushing with fever, finest cracks in celadon
moments falling to a lover
About the AuthorNicole Sprinkle is a restaurant critic for Seattle Weekly and has written for The New York Times, The Huffington Post, and other regional and national media.