Saturday, June 9, 2018

Pome #5: Brief Visit (Originally Posted on 3/11/2011)


BRIEF VISIT

I've swallowed many a bitter fruit,
Served by you,
With a smile I always trusted to be sincere.

I ignore the whispers behind my back
And once again make the journey to see you.
My smile mirrors your own as you stand before me,
To greet me,
Your "I love you" hanging beside your head
Like a word balloon in a comic strip.

I reach out to touch what I think is you.
Too late, I realize that it isn't you at all
(At least, not the "you" I'd hoped to see again
After all this time!),
But instead, a false sheet of stiff paper
Bearing your image.

As the beckoning, deceitful photograph of you
Collapses and tumbles to the ground,
Taking its "I love you"
And all of my hopes with it,
I feel the cold and familiar steel
Of the knife -- your knife -- as it strikes my back.

Saved yet again by my calluses!
I'm toughened, but never hardened, you see.
I grant myself few limitations
But have the sense to see them where they exist.
I am honestly, truly content
To enjoy the beauty
Of life's many rainbows
Without ever expecting or demanding
A pot of gold at their end.

Your blade falls, broken and useless.
I step forward, never looking back to see the real you.
Instead, I glance downward wistfully,
Looking at your false but loving image,
Which lies crumpled on the ground
Along with so many cherished memories from the past.

I step around the life-size photograph.
(Around it, but not upon it.)
Then, as always,
I continue walking along my private path.

Same time next year, my dear one?

*  *  *  *  *

To paraphrase Sigmund Freud, "Sometimes a poem is only a poem."

Every so often, I'll write a short story or a poem which has absolutely nothing to do with my personal life, but one or more of my readers infer(s) that it does. So, just for the record, let me state that at the moment, I am on fairly good terms with all of my friends, relatives, and loved ones.

Again, to paraphrase Sigmund Freud, "Sometimes a poem is only a poem."

The copyrighted illustration at the top of the page is a papercut by the immensely talented Suzy Taylor at Folk Art Papercuts, and is used with her very gracious permission! A perusal of her site and her intricate creations will surely impress you, as it did me.

Thanks for your time.

9 comments:

  1. Sometimes a pome is just a pome indeed. Liked the sheet of stiff paper line. Sometimes that is all that remains. Although I would be fine with finding that pot of gold haha

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  2. A pome may be just a pome but, sometimes it hits home. Someone once told me writers always leave traces of themselves. I wonder about that? I write things unrelated to my life, but, my words might evoke a memory or feeling. It is like music that can transport one in a way. Does any of this make sense? If not, just consider it the wandering of my mind at play.

    I am content with rainbows as I have given up on pots of gold. I don’t need a pot of gold but, a bit of silver might be nice!

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    Replies
    1. "A bit of silver?" Gee, if I were our president, I'd say that was all about me... But I'm not, don't worry, haha!

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  3. Maybe a poem is just a poem - but that was so mesmerising I had to read it twice.

    Susan A Eames at
    Travel, Fiction and Photos

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  4. I chuckled a bit at the end, in an "I can totally relate. He never took the knife out of my back, yet I don't walk on his/our photos" way.
    Well done, sir. Well done.

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    Replies
    1. So glad you liked it and found something in there for yourself.

      Delete

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