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 About This Author 
My name is Joy, and I love to write. 
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
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	 Green Peas at Stake  #438623 added July 6, 2006 at 12:54am Restrictions: None	 
	My Blood Redux 
	It seems to have been a while since,  
trusting my act in the kitchen, I touched  
the knife on the wrong edge, sliding 
my thumb. The shock of blood, rediscovered  
so red when fresh, spun out of the mind--with  
the pain and humiliation--other  
things that bled, while I blinked to  
wave off carelessness, but the pattern  
of the warm liquid zigzagged to  
fill my perverse temper with  
the recall of sharp-edged words that cut  
like cutlery when he said I was full  
of shit and I should watch out, as he  
cast off my human skin and made  
me bleed to a peculiar numbness.  
Now, I hold my thumb to the light and  
think, after the ointment, my blood  
will clot again. 
 
 
Prompt: Write a poem about rediscovering something | 
 
 
© Copyright 2006 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.  
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