Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Film (or mirror)

Film (or mirror)

Gentle reader,
You must reach out
To share this poem.
I write to you
While sitting at this
Green pond's edge,
Shaded by this
Band-barked cherry-tree
On this hot New England day.

A crowd of little fishes
Attend me at my feet.
They must be fed
To so crowd up
At the shadow of my head.

Disappointed in me,
They turn and leave.
Even the silent turtle,
Green, mossy snake-neck monster,
Gives me up as a loss.

I work at the writing in the
Bright heat.
While you work from
The other end,
Fingering the page in some
Dim room (or perhaps
Your face is lit bluely
By pixels on a screen).

Bringing more to the poem
Than fish or turtle,
I hope you find in me
More satisfaction
Than the fish have found.

These fish blankly gaze
With frustrated desire.
Held apart by the film between --
(or wat'ry mirror)
They in water and
I in sweaty air.
I see them dimly through
The glassy, greeny surface.
To them, I must appear a vague
Darkness against the brightness
Of the sky.

Reaching through time and space,
My words on this page (or screen)
Also make a film (or mirror)
Through which I may
Glimpse you dimly.
Do you see me, partner?
Catch my crumbs
Flung across the aching void.

Betsy McKenzie
June 27, 2007


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