Breathless,
lunch-less,
my quaking bog body
spills what it can,
fills the room with fear.

Arthur says,
“You fear what you don’t know.
Once you know it
it will no longer be
something to fear.”

He listens again and says,
“I could be wrong,
but I think this is about
anger and power.”

I exhale, smile.
I can breath again.
Imagine, all this crazy, scary shit
whittled down
to two common nouns.

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from Excavation, poems by Janet Jerve published by North Star Press., 2013.  Janet has taught poetry in Minnesota public schools and worked as a writer/editor for nonprofit organizations.