Georges Seurat


I am sad for the words
That will never be spoken
They know who they are
They know the weight they carry
To utter them
Would cause a deep deep bleed
It would crack a heart
A fault line that may never repair
These words strung together
Even in the slightest disorder
Could cause an avalanche
Of broken sentences
Casualties
Frozen under forever
All opportunity misspelled
But still I am tempted
To let these words reach you
One day
Maybe I can find a manner
Of implying them
Offer them by touch
Expose the root of them
And plant them tenderly
In the silent garden
Where you nurture only goodness
Where words are seeds for birds
Maybe I can make a small marker
That you will find
In your morning affirmations
Weeding mistakes lovingly
In rows of carrots and parsley
A simple - careful array of letters
Just this gentle thought
You don’t have to be so quiet
So quietly good




Sara Mathews          March 2019