I Could Cry But I Don’t

by Billy Howell-Sinnard
The Writer's Block
Third Place, November 2010
Judged by Paul Lisicky


The things I work with are sharp,
made to reach inside, measure
what shouldn’t be: histories

of kin and accident, want of life
no matter what the consequences.
Their excuses can’t delay the decay.

I dress them in gowns, delight
them with warmed blankets. Now,
pain fills their days like God.


An elliptical and rich poem, energized by patterns of contrast. ----Paul Lisicky

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