Whatever badness there was
sometimes
was not of us,
but between us.
Because there was goodness,
which felt like a sure base.
While badness felt only
like incidents upon it.
The badness was only
the way you and I needed to behave,
sometimes.
Not what we were.
The badness was only
a small,
transient,
insignificant
pain,
like the tiny, instant
pain
from the prick of a rose’s thorn,
taking joy,
for a second,
away from the fragrance of a rose.
by Peggy Freydberg
from Poems From the Pond
Hybrid Nation, Los Angeles, Ca.2013
