The Hurt

Shannon Reed


I have hurt you, my dear, 
I have torn your soul.

Understand me. 
Everyone knows who I am, 
but that "I am" 
is besides a man 
for you.

In you I waver, fall 
and rise up burning. 
You among all beings 
have the right
to see me weak. 
And your little hand 
of bread and guitar 
must touch my breast 
when it goes off to fight.

That's why I seek in you the firm stone. 
Harsh hands I sink in your blood 
seeking your firmness 
and the depth that I need, 
and if I find 
only your metallic laughter, if I find 
nothing on which to support my harsh steps 
adored one, accept 
my sadness and my anger, 
my enemy hands 
destroying you a little 
so that you may rise from the clay 
refashioned for my struggles.

-Pablo Neruda