She flies over my head
Ejected
And I watch as her hand meets Gravity’s lair.
He broke off her wings
Piece by piece
And stepped on her plexi-glass windows;
Now he’s moved elsewhere.
Baggage is strewn…everywhere.
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I love that we don't know if it is her baggage or his baggage that is strewn everywhere. Whatever the case (pardon the pun), the residual matter of our relationships is often a painful reminder of our losses. The difficult part is letting go. (Everyone says that, don't they? I guess it must be true.)
ReplyDeleteThis poem is eerie in its beauty. My thoughts drift from a little boy-tyrant, torturing a butterfly for fun, to the moments after a plane crash when literally baggage is strewn everywhere. I'm not sure if that's what you were going for (I see Lisa took it more literally) but that's what I gleaned from your words. The line 'now he's moving elsewhere' really gets to me...The idea of evil lurking and slinking off to reek more havoc makes it seem more physical and real and frightening than just saying 'this could happen again' or something. Basically, I love this poem. I love the obscure images and the fact that the end does not bring clarity completely. Very deftly written. Thanks!
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