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I have sent or handed out this year's holiday cards, so I can finally share the poem I had printed on the front of these folded cards.

A beautifully poignant poem by Margaret Atwoord:

We hear nothing these days
from the ones in power

Why talk when you are a shoulder
or a vault

Why talk when you are
helmeted with numbers

Fists have many forms;
a fist knows what it can do

without the nuisance of speaking:
it grabs and smashes.

From the inside or under
words gush like toothpaste.

Language, the fist
proclaims by squeezing,
is for the weak only.

vitaulium.nl/blog/2024/2024-12


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