Eva Miodownik Oppenheim

When Words Fail

I am suspicious of this morning
that sits fashionably, like a hat,
pretending something I can barely imagine.

The hard winter sun is surprisingly cold on the window.

What I meant to say eludes words.
They rise before me
delivering something I had not intended at all.

It’s this desire to make things right,
the urge to shout, “It’s Okay, it’s Okay,”
when the heart is breaking.

Better a dumb-show of compassion;
Wait stiff and sad-faced in the doorway,
proffer apples and clementines.

The maze of history echoes
with words of betrayal and consolation,
yet I stand speechless among the coffee cups.

Outside, the day resumes its audacious journey.


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