You are a symphony and I am an asterisk. It could never work.
by Andrea Colton
Alas! but we cannot.
The breadth of our limbs, outstretched into the thick of air,
stir the breeze in challenge. We dance with weeping willows until
they surly weep no more. We hold hands with lightening bugs and
whisper sweet sonnets to sleeping waves of grass and not one,
no nothing in this moment could digress us
from the silk of wind seeping through our unfisted, ambitious palms.
And how could this elation ever make it through?
If only we could hold this time.
Roll it up into itself, lose it in the lip of an empty message bottle,
and send it on to someone who doesn't care much to recycle.
For I fear what is not this time. This time that is not what was
nor what will be. I fear
you. And all your skin, your eyes and breath.
You, the melody. You, the music.
And no matter what, your show must always, irrevocably, go on.
And it weighs on me. You, as the symphony.
But we cannot.
We are broken battle ships, and I grow tired of this war.
Together for the sake of being apart, my hinges have rusted, weathered over,
and creak when I try to open a door. Speak to me in tongues for I know not
what to say. Let us leave the raft to escape the impending doom we
have molded into these older chests. Allow our gestures, un-closeted,
to rage out into each others bellies, into tendon and sinew,
and with a fire burn, burn, burn down all this home we have
created out of unrequited pretense. And I, as the asterisk,
will leave these memories to the afterthoughts of starving poets.
We cannot, you see.
Because I was never willing to try.
Posted on 04/29/2011
Copyright © 2018 Andrea Colton