Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Catherine Breese Davis

I hurt who hurts me not to be alone,
And then, alone, I hate the hurt I give;
I need more light, or to be made of stone.

I need to shape a life less fugitive,
Where something will stay put and stay my hands,
For no one can run out of life and live.

I need a steadfast heart, a heart that stands
Still as the still eye of the storm is still.
Turbulent child, what next? what new demands?

Nothing can dry your eyes, nothing fulfill
Your needs, inexorable as your grief,
Grievous as death. You are as dark and shrill

As the wind surging, tumbling, I your leaf,
Your sport, your mere plaything. I need, I need
More than your hurt, your hate, your disbelief.

I need the darkness in you to recede
A little, for I need, not better sight
Nor to be made of stone. I need more light.

This poem is from Catherine Breese Davis: On the Life & Work of a Lost American Master, edited by Martha Collins, Kevin Prufer, and Martin Rock, with the Unsung Masters Series, Pleaides Press, 2015.