Compare political behavior with a toddler’s.
Monthly Archives: October 2017
With sneaking silence
Small hands reach for the wooden edge,
Pulling up to unsteady feet
Until dark eyes can get a peek
At sugary gold in its crystalline cage.
The tiny hands then hold and wait,
Wait for the chance to set it free
When no adults can hear or see.
A bubble in the river,
A tiny froth of foam,
Pushed and rushed and jostled
Through a world it does not know.
It has no oar to steer with
Nor hands nor feet to try,
And so it floats in the hands of fate,
In currents aimed and blind.
An old, gnarled knot
Worn smooth by countless hours:
Long-lost, treasured friend
The shadow stands without,
Encased in glass, unseen but watching –
Wishing, longing – in darkness dreaming
Of other roles, of relationships, of talents,
Of participation and its receipt
(Of laughter, applause, and envy)
At the same time, a step on that stage,
The thought alone, brings fear unending –
Shaking, screaming – in silence crying
Of possibilities, of dreams, of fates,
Of inevitable horrors and their dooms
(Of silence, coldness, and jeers)
The parade of nightmares cycles and grows
And spins with wishes in a turbulent rage
Keeping the shadow from the stage
Without a superficial skin – a face,
An act – an appealing role with flare and grace:
The perfect mask for the out of place.
A deep breath, as though the air is anesthesia,
Numbing impatience and irritation when applied to the lungs.
Another chance, another breath, and still the temper grows
As if the dosage is too low, too weak or watered-down
Or as if the rage and annoyance have grown immune,
Built up a tolerance with each breath, each attempt
Until the eruption becomes inevitable.
Passage made by Nature:
A riverscape of streets
Through buildings made for drier days
Like cookies crumbling in the heat
An island made of shifting stones –
Sanctuary with a side of fear
A perch amidst the city’s bones:
There shouldn’t be a Venice here.