Poem: Who Cares

Who Cares

Who cares she thought —

running among

the hedges of shapes,

the green of youth,

the wrestling of brocade —

who cares she thought

as the guns press

on their triggers,

and the shells

do their worst —

and the distance

becomes the heartbeat,

and the heartbeat

becomes love,

and the rise

and the fall —

of the breath

that carries it,

and the love

that dies within

hopeless sighs —

who cares,

and the brocade, thinner now,

and the heartbeat

against the brocade —

its weight remembered —

and the blush

of the white cheek —

and the mole

that was earned

between her legs,

and the beauty

of that ancient dance —

and the thrashing sea

in the ship

bound home

after Asia —

no softer for it —

and the brocade again—heavier now,

and the hummingbirds

finding the flower —

the depth

of the hardness

that entered into —

the soft pedal

sinking deeper,

and the love

dragging low

before it lifts —

and the heave,

and the hold,

and the no

when he has to

say goodbye —

But there is

always our time —

Oh, but the brocade,

and the hedges,

and the green —

not as it was —

and the rise

losing the fall,

and the sigh —

and the stall.

Marni Fraser

04.2026

Glass Calligraphy Pen by Marni Fraser