at the north end of Queen’s Park
dark and bare, arms gracefully
outstretched, trunks slowly curving…
they danced, frozen in time,
across the snow-covered ground.
Black gliding motionless across white,
I learned how much movement could exist
ignore the fact that you sense it’s going to break soon,
even though it all looks sound after repeated inspection
it’s old. you wear it all the time. you just know.
be on the subway with a friend.
by which, I mean,
not just talking with your hands
but really *emoting*
feel suddenly lighter
as you watch the spray of beads fly through the air at random people
like an array of fireworks
malachite BBs flung through space
be grateful that no one got hit
that no one was annoyed
that people tried to help a little bit
that one guy said, “Sorry about your bracelet,”
as he exited the train
be grateful that the one that broke
is the one you can easily replace all the beads on
malachite and obsidian and nothing particularly special
like the lapis, kyanite one right next to it.
collect the two or three beads that keep rolling past
you as the train slows then speeds up then slows again
wonder where the others went
laugh about it all and think to yourself, I’m SO posting this on facebook:
Hazards of Being Italian with Beaded Bracelet on Transit.
The way they all arc’d through the air collectively shouting, “We’re freeeeeeeee!” was pure cinematic slow-motion awesome.