Friday, March 2, 2018

Previously Published on Century 121 . . .

Wearing One Earring

Sleepless and thinking of Van Gogh
I take my left earring out.
Placing it inside a box
to send to a love that does not
exist.  Yet or ever.  Probably
an empty gesture full of
meaning[ful psychoses] even I
don't understand.  Yet
I take my time.  Wrapping
the parchment with pristine
corners any hospital would envy.
I even wavered momentarily
over the choice of ribbon, wondering
if it still qualifies as a present if tied
with breast-cancer-pink allusions
to suffering.  No, this is serious
[ly symbolic if not just a tad imbecilic]
so I selected silver.  Knotted.
Knightly.  Even moderately merry.
And its glint was worth the fuss.
It focused the moon as it soared
from my balcony to the river
below.  Beyond, I was able to trace
its trail as it soaked, swirled,
then sank.  In a flameless
mocking of some ancient and
regal funereal.  All light.
All sorrow.  All honor.
All gone.  As it settles itself
among the silt.


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