Friday, September 24, 2010

Fish Tale

Fish Tale

I didn't know the fish would die
flapping on sun-warmed metal
Peacefully domestic afternoon
Children discover death
and other worlds.

Sitting by the well
to draw inspiration.
Spinning yarn, weaving words.
Dusty work.  Flakes of skin
embed the fabric.
Struggling through childhood,
the tales get twisted.
Little boys & little girls
separate language.
We think we know our place,
our destinies,
from the games we're given,
the words we've learned to say,
rhymes, reasons, rituals.
Imbibing passion body to body,
we awaken rules of blame.
The woman tempts.
The hero conquers.
The sad boy desires a
self-fulfilling fantasy,
stomping upon his heart to 
start the flow of real blood,
real rage.
Out of water, out of earth, 
out of air
flopping upon some inert surface
the tale mechanistically repeats.
What world can we discover
nurturing life?

No comments:

Post a Comment