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Vien Joel Poem
A towel that is white is useful
and can clean and be cleaned.
A towel is most functional
in this form.
And suddenly a sock,
a sock that is red
is thrown into the wash
and now our white towel
is pink.
How the towel tossed and turned and
fought and squirmed about in that basin
with the sock, trying to squish
against the walls and avoid that
seeping, insidious, leaking red dye.
But it soaked in and became apart of the
towel, all the same.
entwined in its fibers,
pounded into its weaving
mercilessly soaking into its being.
Nothing is white for the towel anymore,
not bodies to dry or water to clean
it is pink all pink that spreads and separates
and the towel may no longer experience
white.
Our towel, once white is tinged,
singed, tainted, corrupted, violated.
It is not its whole self, a towel, that is,
it is an unclean rag that is tired and
worn out, frayed and stained.
Sure we can toss the towel in the wash,
douse its body in abrasive bleach to
try to wipe clean the slate and return
our towel to its most useful state.
But our towel will thin, and pill, and remain
just a little bit pink.
Copyright © Vien Joel | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Vien Joel Poem
Lonely hands touch
Ivory keys, tentative, afraid.
A wary finger presses gently down.
A sweet, long note cascades,
Then trickles off into the dark silence.
Plunk, plunk, plink,
Fingers explore carefully. Not music
Necessarily. Just becoming comfortable
In fact. Softly, hands relax and
Spread the keys’ length.
And suddenly, unexpectedly,
A second hand. It falls with confidence
On the keys. Its comfort there is different
From what your hands could know there.
You continue with the company.
Soon a song pours out like
Spilt honey wine. It’s sweet and fast
And spreads quickly. Its sticky warm liquid
Is sure to leave a residue behind,
But leave the cleaning for later.
Dynamic grows and
Two sets of hands
Are in the throes
Of a dizzying sound
That can’t be resisted.
And then you are alone.
The last note creeps
Back into the shadows,
Its head down in defeat.
So do you.
It’s quiet.
Copyright © Vien Joel | Year Posted 2016
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