Figure SkatersI watch them. What a metaphor,
The two of them on ice, a man,
A woman, skating with such grace
To something saccharine that blasts,
Distorted, through arena speakers.
Tragic love. That could be us.
They glide and circle. She goes
Limp. He lifts her, and they
Pirouette. I glance around.
You are not there. I tell myself
That, someday, every barrier
Between us will be pushed
Away, and we will be the gliding
Lovers. All will end up well,
Though, for now, they who are
Not us are on the ice, and all their
Poignant spirals mock our separateness.
I worry love has left, and I don't
Have the competence to lift you, or to
Pirouette. I will, instead, stay on the
Sidelines, watching as somebody else
Leads you to sparkle on the ice,
To join his metaphor.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 49 times
Written on 2017-01-07 at 16:19
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