For some part of the time
Sharp kept watch.
No one really noticed being watched.

Narcisister kept on
talking about herself,
how grand her children, her grand greatchildren,

stridently more than ever
now she knew she would never
die:  “I am they, they are I.”

The assembled familia also
knew its perfect importance,
talking all at once, even louder.

Rules were clear, in full
regalia.  No confusion here:
blood matters most of all.

Sharp, the appalled audience,
came to curtain conclusions;
held back on the applause.

For most of the rest of the time,
Inconspicuous kept watch,
having become nearly invisible by now,

not being blood.
There were conclusions to come to.
Then, too, there was dinner,

wine, a fancy dessert.
Maybe dessert could compensate for
being Sharp, Inconspicuous, not blood.

Maybe dessert could take away
the taste of the egg, transcend
with a little something sweet at the end.

4 responses »

  1. I’d thought about commenting once or twice before but without being sure what I wanted to say. Now I’ve realised: I’m full of admiration for the discipline in these lines, the controlled rage and economy of language. Anger recollected in tranquility?

    • Spot on, John! A small story: my partner’s ancient Sicilian mother, when she came to stay with us, always required 3 eggs “over easy” (heaven forbid the cook should break a yolk….that meant start-over) for breakfast, and always, without fail, as she pushed her cleaned plate away would say “…now we need a little something sweet to take away the taste of the egg.” Though this poem is not specifically about her, it reminds me how little moments, ordinary details and scenarios in their concreteness can help to work one’s way through a poem…or a rage 🙂

      Love the Frostian recollection in tranquility. Thank you, John

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