It had not yet hit the cement floor
and shattered into incalculable smithereens.
I was, of course, in a hurry.
It was, of course, glass.
I can freeze it, the moment
I knew the bottle was going to fall
and there was not a thing
I could do to stop it—
that moment as brief as when
I decided to tell the truth
after he asked the question
I hoped he would never ask.
All those shards—they never
go back to a whole. How the sunlight
gathers in them, thousands of prisms
scattered all over the floor.
remarkable poem. The third stanza finds the nugget….well done!
I agree with my shadow above, wholeheartedly. I’ll add that the 2nd stanza intrigues me the most, how it informs the third one, how it projects the last.
I like reading these other comments. I’ve read it several times in my own corner and decided to hold hands with the world and am comforted by this, “the third stanza finds the nugget…” which might be true…but then I love that the shards are scattered and turn to prisms.
For me, this is almost always true.
Ahh, sweet Rebecca, I had such a positive response, myself to the shards. The poem came from several very real experiences, one of which was dropping a bottle in the garage that morning when I was on my way up to the recycling and you would not believe how many shards! And all those rainbows. I do so believe that everything serves us. Everything. That doesn¹t mean I LIKE it, doesn¹t mean I don¹t get bloody feet, metaphorical or otherwise, but I do see that it all feeds us, breaks us down so that we are more and more and more (say it) open
I love that you are holding hands with the world thank you for writing, friend.
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Sunday, October 19, 2014 at 10:52 PM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Perhaps Whole Is Not What I Aspire To”
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