1610, by Ky Huddleston

David with the Head of Goliath, by Caravaggio (Italy) 1610

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​1610 

A smooth, soft drape 
across a shoulder
across a brow
across a blade. 
A strange and simple 
soul-drenching sadness. 

Someone somewhere
on a cosmic scale,
whispered to Caravaggio 
make David a Twink, you coward
and by God in Heaven, he listened. 

It ends in lax unsight
at the end of a palm. 
It begins in darkness.
In between the two— 

Hunger verging on famine
a strain barely capable of 
holding the burden in hand. 
The blade is lighter 
held lower, hidden away
like a secret sort of shame.

A tear shed in a fashion
Subtle enough to escape
attention to all but the keenest 
and those that relate strongest. 
The guilty know their own. 

They say this was an admission
of the murder of a young boy.
He was accused
and he was absolved 
But he did not absolve himself.

A portrait of his own self-flagellation.
A Goliath with his face
and David crafted from a boy 
he stole the life from. 
Regrets are often intimate.
This is no exception.

Ky Huddleston  

Ky Huddleston is an Oregonian reptile enthusiast, travelling up and down the West Coast looking for new snakes to hold. He moonlights as a poet and author, with work published in Main Squeeze and Essential Oils magazines.