Mercy
by Toni Morrison

I could watch
heads
turn from the traveler’s look
the camera’s probe
bear the purity of their
shame
hear mute desolation in syllables
ancient as
death.
I could do these things
if
only if only
I knew that when milk
spills
and hearts stop
underheel
some small thing gone
chill
is right
to warm toward a touch because
mercy
lies in wait
like a shore.
Mercy
mercy
mercy
like a shore.