Sunlight strikes me in the face, I feel significant,
and my reality is transformed:
nothing can be denied me anymore.
On looking back I see him standing in anger,
or defense, fists by his sides,
for who has been violated, I do not know.
Remembering when he touched me
with the weight of everything he felt,
and now he can pin me to the night sky,
I am left alone, time speeding me toward remote galaxies.
I know I can turn away in the instant before
I balance on my toes to lean toward his kindness.
He chugs past, dragging his dragon tail,
and I see people bringing him presents,
gamboling at his feet, and wonder how much of himself
does he give away, each day, so much that he feels robbed
and sapped of his strength?
So as he turns off his light, I am no longer blind.
And why do I have this much lucidity
in this gallery of fantasy?
Perhaps our rebellion is to build an artificial world,
and then to reject it.
Deep in this appreciation of artifice and antipathy,
I smile, complacent.
To my surprise he raises his hand in salute,
recognition lighting the marquees of his eyes,
all the dark empty stages:
what role does he want me to play?
I have a glimpse of a divergent potential,
an alternative past, present and future.
I know he will reject me again;
I know I will walk away.
I refuse to be the daily sensational news,
because, wouldn’t you know it, I insist
on choosing to live my own
Poem © by Mary Clark 2015