~ Anger ~

© Margaret Emerson
Published in Qi Journal, winter 2006-2007

     Back in the seventies my brother used to do a brilliant impression of an angry hippie. His body froze. Arms were suspended slightly away from his sides, fingers spread open, head tilted. He was the picture of arrested surprise. The collision of impulses in the face clinched it. His eyes were wide and round and his pupils darted crazily, not knowing which way to go. They were looking for an escape route and bouncing off the clueless blue of an ungiving iris. The edges of the mouth were turned up, struggling to hold onto the perpetual smile. (Must maintain the smile, the sweet, open countenance that welcomes all things with love and wonder.) What to do? Torn between loyalty to his chosen tribe and the reality of this crashing emotion, he was caught—vibrating and paralyzed.

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