A Poem by Matthew E. Henry

when she asks me about courage

because you are the pot simmering

on the black steel stove—the one

my young hands were slap-trained,

by an old wooden spoon, to stop

reaching for; the moon-shaped

apple sinking into the thorny soil

of a banished garden—paradise

guarded by an angel spinning

a flaming sword; the second hearth

eyed by an anxious Prometheus—

who feels the jagged, healing scar,

hears the eagle’s closer

cry; the fiery line

best left out

of a poem

that should remain

unfinished. so my arms wrap—

my hands hold—only myself

to my chest. while yours shakes,

shivers—cold, wet from sobbing—

beside me.

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Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is the author of the Colored page. MEH’s an educator who received his MFA yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing an MA in theology and a PhD in education. He writes about education, race, religion, and burning oppressive systems to the ground at www.MEHPoeting.com