The Remains
Like little birds startled by crumbs we scatter
for cover when the big words come,
the ones stripped of any art, the ones that singe,
mostly avoided, successfully dodged those lumps of dry bread.
Keep truth abay with a light swathe, a gauzy cloak of
half-heard, half-uttered little drones of
nothingness, conventional riffs of jazz, too polite to improvise.
A necklace of platitudes we spin for each other:
barbs disguised in vanilla puddings
to be uncovered by the archaeologists of
our dead love.
Oooh, powerful stuff Marina – the complex covered in simplicity.
Marina Sofia – This is beautifully done! A really eloquent look at the way we use platitudes and the way we (don’t) face the difficult stuff.
A briliant piece of writing on how we avoid the truth.
Marina Sofia, I wonder how your mind thinks of these things put together so nicely, so perfectly. How do you think of this! Like barbs disguised in vanilla puddings.
I hate to say, I have spoken those barbs in my life. And received some too.
Very good poem.