by diy danna
Picking up the pieces of rubble from a broken
seashell while on holiday with the husband
who demands to know what you are thinking-
about the life you once led as a missionary
assuming the position as a humble servant
and kneeling before the alter of self-righteousness
and political machinations – character assassinations
that end when you snuff out that demanding voice
of conscience. The reason tells you it is not love
but a hormonal imbalance that tricks four pounds-
not kilograms – of wrinkled gray matter
that is smoothed and smothered by affection.
His demands are simple – tell him what you are thinking.
But your arresting thoughts are held behind bulbous eyes
that scan the shoreline plotting the next escape from the
escarpment – with a leap into the ocean – A New Awakening!
You swim until you grow weary and submit
to the congenial demands of the wrinkled gray liquid matter –
once an ocean of wrong choices and regret,
now a euphoric honeymoon sea of possibility.