Tara Bergin

Three Poems

Self-Portrait with Money

Is it hunger?
It can’t be hunger.
Is it thirst?
It can’t be thirst –

and it isn’t pain,
or fear,
or hopelessness.

What can it be?

How hard the hand clutches,
as the fast heart thumps.

The hand will stink of metal…

Of course!

It will stink of metal,
and then of:

remorse.

 

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