Green- eyed deluge
The river above the lake has swelled banks
And hidden in the darkness of her swirling flow
Is an anger black , pent up , laden, furious
With the swollen torrents from the mountains
After the deluge of the August rain
There is a silent brooding lurking about my boat
Which has risen with the rising water
And stands now like an ice skate on the pier.
Its keel , unwieldy swaying , this way and that
It’s pivot ungainly ; itspoise unsteady;
In an inarticulateballetic pirouette
With the volatility of the flood
And my ropes wont steady her just now.
At some point in my every day
My mood too will vacillate on that precarious precipice
But I no longer have the grace
And my stature looks hideous and grotesque
When I’m daily impaled , reluctantly
In this place ; and I have no rope to steady me.
I saw this brooding break its banks on another ‘s countenance of late.
Inside an egg-shell thickness of a temper concealed
And the green eyes narrowed like two almond slits of ice
The mouth twisted as in a affliction.
She sundered the straining leash of decorum
And came with a fury racing downstream
Tearing the embankment in its frenzy
Uprooting saplings all along its course.
A steely anger on the grated teeth
Whose locks could not restrain
The vapid vehemence of her wrath,
And I walked away before I could hear the hurtful utterance
Erupting spasmodically from her vituperative tongue.
I see again that river has stilled for now
And grown mellow in its flow;
And those green eyes are softened
And the bosom bountiful with gifts.
She bought me a jumper , just to show
It didn’t happen , what she’d said
I feel the heartbeat flow with an even pulse again
But the banks are fragile and may well give way before the dawn.
But I recoil ; my steadiness of foot unsure ;
And despise myself because she is so like me
Even more than I’d ever thought.
My own distasteful image is reflected
In the quickness of her temper;
My failure to constrain ;
To hold that torrent when the flood is at its full
To steady the banks as they are ready to crumble
And the have the will and strength to let the deluge discharge
Slowly , steadily and with the patience and might
But I have such little power of restraint
To turn the heavy wheel of the lock gate
And even lessthe will to brace myself
In that trying moment when a spiteful word
Seems so much more pressing to impart
Than all the effort to it takes to quell the flow
And still the rapid torrent to an even stream.
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