Sunday, September 11, 2016

No Island is an Island

"You're complicating my life,"
an offhand remark at work--
the speaker not knowing,
and not to blame,
that I hear in the words
confirmation
of my darker fears:
I am a complication.
On balance,
I am more trouble
than I am worth.




I suppose, we all complicate
each others' lives.
Our root systems snarl,
fibrous root to spider-lace tip,
around each other.
You can't--
you cannot--
uproot yourself
without taking from others.




As a creationist spoke
of Antediluvian forests, I pictured
strange trees knit by tangle
of root and branch
into islands riding
a broad warm sea.
In such a case,
complication
holds life together.

2 comments:

  1. I cherish the specificity and freshness of "fibrous root to spider-lace tip", and I like "islands riding a broad warm sea" -- "broad" being newer and better than "vast," seen in the first draft that you posted. Your conclusion is happily arrived at, without the clunkiness of a "moral" and with a pleasantly unexpected positive twist on the notion of "complication."

    Thank you for writing as you do!

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