two poems

leaving

the weight of yesterday is here
consuming ev'ry thought. i hear
that confession yields healing but
i can't (won't) believe it. so, taught
by my unruly heart to fear
tomorrow's guilt, i think of near
nothing except to leave, to flee.
knowing that tomorrow will bring
relief - yet knowing not one thing
will have changed except my bed site;
that relief is not found in flight.


returning

Weather's rough. I'll hold up here today.
Can't go on--but, still, can't stay
(to linger before going on would
be a thing without end.) Should
I stay, then, and risk the going--or
go, and risk making home's door?

I'm going home next week. I fear the people but I dread not going even more.

-joe