Like Fish in the Pond

Like Fish in the Pond

you know nothing better

and continue our truth or dare

the conversation you always repeat

thinking me to be

someone I am not.

 

“Would you sell yourself

for another tube of Periwinkle Blue?”

 

I have not the heart to tell you

this is no longer possible.

I answer,

 

“We waste it on morning sky.”

 

I watch you stare from the window

at another befuddling dawn.

You reach for my arm; we descend

stairs, a palatial coil, your eyes

searching for a mansion

bedraggled enough to welcome

drips of paint and stalagmites of wax.

You look to me and say,

 

“It seems too neat.”

 

I follow your wrist waving

at the gleaming restoration. The white,

the chandelier, the dustless cornices. And I long

for dawn to disappear so you might bewilder

these changes with candlelight.

You sense my thought and ask,

 

“Where is my candelabra?”

 

I shake my head slightly

and crack the double doors

to another morning. We cross

the road, down a bank of grass

and enter the garden,

dew doesn’t bother our feet.

 

In the pond lacquered shadows

move under the water sheen. Scales;

orange, then a speckle of black. The fish

drift, circle and return, their tails cutting

the surface for a moment then slipping away.

 

You look at my face like I have stolen

your love, committed some treason

of which I know not. When your smile

returns it is empty and you ask,

 

“Would you sell yourself

for another tube of Periwinkle Blue?”

 

I look at the morning sky, shake

my head slightly and begin to speak