Apr/May 2009 Poetry Special Feature

The Pond's Reflection

by Elizabeth P. Glixman

The Pond's Reflection

Behind the thin gauze curtain in the basement window
I hide in the shadows.
I watch my lover's performance.
Water pulsates when he throws
The rock into the backyard Koi pond.
White, red and orange shapes blaze—
Flashing lightening bolts
Swimming flowers
Thinking it is feeding time.

Darkness evaporates from the receding night
I am a clear portrait in this dawn.
The gold buttery light rests on my brittle skin.
My redundant purple lips
Words full of creased emotions
Silently hang on my tongue.
My lover's portrait is this—
He, the rock thrower, is tall and unyielding.
He is churning violent storms.
He will break in the water because
He does not know the difference between
Nourishment and erosion
He does not feel a healing space
Between his drowning doubts
And our redemption.

The pond water quivers and unfolds to stillness.
The Koi sit at the basement of their pond in momentary sleep.
The artistry of their abrupt lightening is gone.

Threaten them, and that is what they do.


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