(no subject)
Here is a Rubik’s cube
If you match this side’s colors”
and stare long enough
you will see your children
not yet born, but be quiet and
you’ll hear yourself tell others
how they’ve grown up too fast
or are in need of an attitude change
hoping that they won’t easily follow
that they’ll be creative and strange
on the other side you’ll see your spouse
watch the ghosts of lovers past
haunt their eyes after an argument
divorce papers printed out, but unsigned
discovered in a box years later
left there and not mentioned again
or perhaps you took that step out the door
made a call to the lawyer
your car trunk left open
just enough room to fit another trash bag
of dirty laundry, bagged up in a hurry
on the opposite side of the color cube
shows a solitary life
one where your hands are the only hands
that answer the whistling of a kettle
the constant glow of some sports game
shouting out the score, or recent trade
no one telling you how to behave
Incense that swirls in semicircles
fades away in the shaft of sunlight
other than you there’s no one there
to breathe in the sweetness of the air
no this Rubik’s cube is no crystal ball
it isn’t even transparent and
bares little resemblance to a sphere
my fictional children that I have yet to correct
my imaginary spouse who was once perfect
exists only for a few moments
that I take to conjure them up
in thin air, behind a strained stare
examining the color wheel
inspired by the thought
of the American dream
which isn’t as lucid as it was before
romanticized and disparaged
just another sentence
destined for folklore
If you match this side’s colors”
and stare long enough
you will see your children
not yet born, but be quiet and
you’ll hear yourself tell others
how they’ve grown up too fast
or are in need of an attitude change
hoping that they won’t easily follow
that they’ll be creative and strange
on the other side you’ll see your spouse
watch the ghosts of lovers past
haunt their eyes after an argument
divorce papers printed out, but unsigned
discovered in a box years later
left there and not mentioned again
or perhaps you took that step out the door
made a call to the lawyer
your car trunk left open
just enough room to fit another trash bag
of dirty laundry, bagged up in a hurry
on the opposite side of the color cube
shows a solitary life
one where your hands are the only hands
that answer the whistling of a kettle
the constant glow of some sports game
shouting out the score, or recent trade
no one telling you how to behave
Incense that swirls in semicircles
fades away in the shaft of sunlight
other than you there’s no one there
to breathe in the sweetness of the air
no this Rubik’s cube is no crystal ball
it isn’t even transparent and
bares little resemblance to a sphere
my fictional children that I have yet to correct
my imaginary spouse who was once perfect
exists only for a few moments
that I take to conjure them up
in thin air, behind a strained stare
examining the color wheel
inspired by the thought
of the American dream
which isn’t as lucid as it was before
romanticized and disparaged
just another sentence
destined for folklore