Wonder: Pilates Magic Circle, Memory, Perspective


Memory floating shards
Flitting about corners of
Discernible vision
A weepy time gone
A blanched nothing.

Thinking that you, so wracked by injury,
Might benefit from
Additional cross training,
I made a special effort
To fish out of my closet
A Pilates prop called
A Magic Circle to bring over
For me to try to help you

Now lies unused on the table
Between us, worlds apart,
As you scream at me
For a good hour
Calling out
My definite bad behavior
The night before
Which ruined our evening out

The bait I threw which you
So amazingly and easily ate
And swallowed whole
Instead of rising above,
13 years older,

My needling
For which I apologized that night

Spawned more by a fear of
What I believe
I can and cannot handle
During weeks of separation
Future upcoming travel
And what, at times,
Feels like your intermittent
Drop-in presence in my life
Than any past betrayal on your part.

Became mottled with lower quality
Interpersonal interactions
A speckled potent contagious disease
Complete with my own construction
Of warped glass cities
At night and early mornings
In solitude

A private scaffolding
A repeated hanging
Which you choke down into
Instead of rising above.

You say you’re so
Emotionally aware
So emotionally intelligent
But I’m not so sure.
You may not know me
As well as you think.

You rage on and on this next morning
Reinforcing last night’s expression,
Which I accepted then and
Thought you had taken care of
Sufficiently that night
Further showcasing disappointment
Of me and all the misery
I clearly cause you

Combined now with fist clenching,
Ripping up bank checks
For some mysterious reason
And repeated table pounding
While yelling,

FOR ME!!?”

So that the Pilates Magic Circle
Bounces up to attention,
Falls and then teeters
From the impact of your anger

Making a soft continuous tapping,
A weirdly soothing sound
Amid the jarring noise
Of your raised voice.

I wonder
If maybe a slap across my face
From you is next
And also idly ponder
The reactions of any
Nearby apartment residents
Unlucky enough
To be home that day.

Is anyone thinking
She needs to step in,
Knock on the door to see if
Everything is alright
Or call the police
To curtail what sounds
Dangerously close to what could be
Domestic violence
Behind closed doors?

I half hoped so.

But, no one enters our scene.
We end up limping offstage
Moving onwards
Trying to rebuild a ragged future
From tattered hopes
Frayed desire.



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