By Chad Hollis
awaiting the unexpected
with the manic patience
of a practiced chess player
the face gives away nothing
hoping and hating
these Irish dreams
this anxious disease
and these hands
one for reaching
and one for shelter
even as I berate myself
for this desperate belief
a lock of hair falls forward
to rest on that soft cheek
I take a breath and
push it back gently
hoping the consequences
won’t break me again
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