Single file, like in the native's way
to hide numbers and mourn in a slow peace.
The leftover and forward
once again make sign to a favorite son.
They pause and worship a clay idol,
as much contrite as devoted.
Forgive me friend their eyes say,
"I was not there".
Or, forget me friend,
"There was more than I could handle".
The idol responds to the
deep wishes of their heart,
projecting back upon the somber
all that they desire.
They will carry now a piece,
each a piece of the pain
and nurture a wound in proportion
to what their projection's demand.
2 thoughts on “Projections”
So beautifully written, but it also made me think and then rethink. I love when a poem does that. Both my heart and my head get a workout.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad the piece pushed some of the right buttons. I’m experimenting with form and style some, so I appreciate the feedback! Thank you for reading.