|Jul/Aug 2014 Poetry|
Image credit: Darryl Leja, NHGRI, Digital Media Database, www.genome.gov
A jeering breeze, flying in from the west
has taken down my wind chimes
one by one. Each string
twisted, turned, snapped like a wishbone.
The pieces flying to the ground.
flat like dead birds.
Last week the breeze took two.
down with shrill cries. Today
it took one. And is already
eyeing another. The last one standing
is made of brass.
Linked together like festive lights.
They say a chain is as strong
as its weakest link.
But why me? What does he want?
I have done nothing
to get in the way. I have in fact
bent over backwards to give.
And yet I am betrayed.