Baby Spinoza

There’s a grave inside the grave
Like the spoon
Inside Spinoza, small enough
For forgetfulness
Larger
Than love

I woke in the night
Syllables unspeakable
Still clinging
Big sky with stars
Faint music
Alien world

Spinoza
There’s no hope
Unmingled with fear
How old were you
When you swallowed
Your silver birth spoon?

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto