Pity
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
Please don’t squeeze globs of pity,
imitation maple,
over the soft waffle of me
fluffy with wonder
edges caramelized
by what I’ve lived.
I bask in buttery richness
of laughter and love pooling
each pocket catching pure amber sugar
unique flavors flowing
from flame leaved woody canopies
fingers buzzing from hours of braille
pearlescent cricket choirs
webbing summer evenings
from wanting and being wanted
hands plaited tight
in belonging.
You might not understand my sizzle.
I don’t need your bottled sympathy,
but I will aim to warm it with compassion
because I know shallow sweetness often streams
where empathy hasn’t thickened
and so much untapped gold waits in the trees.
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About the Author
Megan Dausch is a writer and accessibility specialist from Long Island, New York, where she makes her home with her husband and guide dog. Her work has appeared in Claw & Blossom, Third Wednesday, and the Tishman Review.