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No news. No Events. So here's a poem
that has yet to be published in a book.

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Bondage
By Phlip Arima

The foul stench of sour sweat
on haggard skin, face the colour
of a thundering sky, small teeth falling
from a shattered mouth.

When it was only angry words
forgiveness was simple, the promise
believed, ritual
born.

Then, just as the steady shuffle
of the devout will wear down
the stone steps to an altar,
habit replaced faith,
resignation
living.

The teeth only bounce once
when they hit the floor.

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Published in
Transition Magazine
Spring 2020





if is the first word i learned to say
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