The Tower
Piece by colorful piece
the child builds her tower.
Blue crossed over red
supported by yellow,
adjacent to green.
Sometimes the colors are thought out-
patterns established.
Sometimes the fervor of building takes over
and they are haphazard:
three blues, a yellow, two reds, and two greens
crowding close together.
Each time she aims for just one more piece-
the precipice, the finishing touch.
But the last block, no matter the color or shape
or how carefully it's placed,
no matter how hard she bites her tongue
or how long she holds her breath,
the last block placed topples the tower.
Back to the foundation she begins again,
tension mounting in her stomach.
Torn between frustration- the impulse to knock it down or walk away,
and hope- carefully placing each piece, gently, delicately-
hope that one day the last block with stay.
That for one moment, her breath held,
air still, tongue caught between teeth,
with faith the last block will hold.
Maybe not forever.
Piece by colorful piece
the child builds her tower.
Blue crossed over red
supported by yellow,
adjacent to green.
Sometimes the colors are thought out-
patterns established.
Sometimes the fervor of building takes over
and they are haphazard:
three blues, a yellow, two reds, and two greens
crowding close together.
Each time she aims for just one more piece-
the precipice, the finishing touch.
But the last block, no matter the color or shape
or how carefully it's placed,
no matter how hard she bites her tongue
or how long she holds her breath,
the last block placed topples the tower.
Back to the foundation she begins again,
tension mounting in her stomach.
Torn between frustration- the impulse to knock it down or walk away,
and hope- carefully placing each piece, gently, delicately-
hope that one day the last block with stay.
That for one moment, her breath held,
air still, tongue caught between teeth,
with faith the last block will hold.
Maybe not forever.
Not super thrilled with it. Commentary is welcome and appreciated.
ReplyDeleteIt's perfect. Just like you :)
ReplyDeleteCari knows what's what^
ReplyDeleteI read it as a metaphor for life in general, but also the moments of futility within it; A lesson in excersising will, excersising hope/faith that comes from within, a tricky skill to build up to the top.
Thrilled or not, it is derived from a truth, and is truthfully devine because of it.
you'll get the elegance that suits you the next time... when you 'begin again'
:)
I like the message of the piece. My only suggestion: try writing it as prose instead of poetry. It's a nice anecdote, a snapshot in time.
ReplyDelete