The Chimera

28 07 2017

The room crowded with friends
who each have someone else more significant.
Fear and craving
a magnet misaligned.

The child pushed out onto the busy street
doesn’t speak the language.
The girl writes down the order
gets it wrong anyway.
The woman studies the plans
builds a rocking chair
which collapses into splinters.

Sitting on cracked pavement at the edge of town
the sun sets, chill dew falls
bones ache.

Reflects a chimera:
The cup dropped, but–
a smile reassuring, hands are there to catch it.
The poles align, click tight.
The small coins, tarnished,
are yet sufficient.
The silence yawns not with empty solitude
but with sleepy contentment.




One response

30 07 2017
Mary Jolles

I like the juxtaposition of “a magnet misaligned” in the first part with “the poles align, click tight.” I can imagine the kind of poles you are thinking of, and they are not magnetic poles! Looking always to others for the correct “alignment” can be incredibly misleading. In the end, we have to look both to friends we trust and to within our own selves for that true alignment.

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