Assassin’s Wake

This entry is part 49 of 93 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2011


You are the crab sidling out
from under another, to nip
the fingers closing in with tongs.

You are the kiss walking away
without so much as another glance.

You are the pair caught on camera
pretending to help the fallen one,
then rifling his backpack for cash.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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3 Replies to “Assassin’s Wake”


    “You are the kiss walking away/without so much as another glance.”

    When you find me, and I know you will,
    but I would have withered in the search,
    like these brittle leaves and broken twigs,
    how would I hold you to your promise?

    Like those hungry ghosts in Yunnan,
    would you haunt these forests for a touch
    of where my heart pounds, my breasts,
    and growl your hunger away, satiated?

    You promised you would kiss each leaf,
    each fallen twig, each broken branch
    to find me. But what if you were the kiss
    walking away and would not even glance?

    —Albert B. Casuga

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