42
The grey cumulus slid against heaven
like plates beneath the earth,
and they could only suffer
to see him suffer.
The sea raised a surfy fist
and knocked against the
rocks that were the door
to the cliff’s face.
The face stayed absolute,
letting the fist shrink and surrender,
before it rose once more,
to again demand entry.
All the pebbles could be washed away,
the cliff purexed of its outer shell
but the answer would still be the same,
what it had always been.
“No.”
A hand and cane made their way to the edge,
the balding head peered over to watch
the repeated struggle for admittance.
The mind and soul remembered all the times they had been told,
“No.”
The heart finally and irrevocably snapped,
falling,
causing a cacophony inside as it struck all the other pieces of
16 carat clockwork.
The feet became heavy as all the remaining nuts and bolts trickled
then crashed to the very bottom.
The right foot hung out over the edge
and tipped like rocking horses
as the excess baggage removed what little
balance
the body ever had.
As the broken frame hit the waves,
neither face nor fist changed its ways.
As precious life was lost,
the planet remained unchanged.
The way things are did not come into question,
and the answer remained the same.
“No.”
This poem was written as part of a application for the Minnesota Lake Region Arts Council’s Mentorship Grant. I got the grant and am now working with my mentor.