careful careful
if you drop this poem
it won’t forgive you
won’t return even one
of your calls it will
pass you by on the street
looking the other way
with shades on and heeled
shoes and never will it
trust you again or lie
in your arms or care if
you cry or even stop to
watch you fall it has no
time for you if you can’t
hold for just a second
wait for it to adjust
to the bumps in your hands
remember if you drop this
poem with certainty
it will never admit it
ever loved you, not to anyone
—Priscila Uppal
____
from How to Draw Blood From a Stone (Exile Editions, 1998).