But the Son of Man or Respite

I wrote this a long time ago. I won an award for it. I picked it for contests because I don't like it. never did. But other people seem to. That's fine. A mystery to me, but I'm ok with that.

But, it occurred to me, today, now... now I get this. How odd is that? To write something but not get it for nearly thirty years?

I want to lay my head

in the curve of someone's lap.

Down

on someone who isn't going anywhere.

I want to rest

and close my eyes

and be blest

by the stroking of my hair.

I want to feel the skin

against my cheek and lips

of someone who will let me in,

someone who won't throw me off.

I don't care

who or what they are

or how it appears in others' sight.

I'm not asking for a year

or even a night,

I just want to lay my head

in the curve of a lap

of someone who isn't going anywhere.

(Published in The Phoenix and the Dragon as well as several anthologies.)