the fist that never fell.

 You burnt your
hand while reaching
for my stars.

I remember, vividly,
the way you bellowed
and curled your fingers
into angry, pulsing fists.

I cowered, ever fearful,
while you ranted madly
about how you were deceived
by my pretty words.

Your arms gestured
wildly as you bellowed
like a buffalo, spit
flinging from your lips.

Your bloodshot eyes
were like egg shells
with rivulets of blood
forming faultlines.

I held my breath, 
waiting for the 
inevitable blow to
fall hard upon me.

It never came..
Instead you fell to
your aging knees and
embraced me, weeping.

It was hard to ignore
the way that your 
body shook with the
violence of your sobbing

Or even the way
that your beard roughly
scraped against my
exposed shoulderblades.


To be fully honest,
my opinion of you
changed that night.
I no longer feared you.

I pitied you,
and let me tell you,
pity isn't nearly as
strong as fear.