Broomstick

I sometimes feel our past

laid out on a butchers table
a vast, meaty carcass
plump and runny, ready for carving
some bits for dinner
some for the alley cats
but massive and immovable
despite how we vivisect our lives
we remain who we are
and who we were
and I know that our foolishness
defined us.

But I also love those little seconds
in timeless escape from the carver's office
standing next to shores, or under umbrellas with tea
watching the skies do things to us
that I would never have known
had I kept at myself
and I believe that introspection
will probably kill me

So I can imagine you
standing there,
staring down a precipice
of yourself cast into the coming years ocean
unafraid for a' that
but eyeing the currents below
and ready;
having farewelled who you loved
having heard "You have my farewell"
and silence, awkward after;
tipping like a broom on my hand
plunged off into yourself.

You have my best wishes, for a' that.

-May Eighteenth, 2007