BTT 70: Dear Consequence

Dear Consequence

.

I.

I always thought you were

Something to suffer,

An improvised device

Answering my every

Step, both mutable

And sure,

Inscrutable,

And counting down

The years and days

Together pounding

Our little plans

To powder

Beneath your

Watchful gaze.

I would feel you

Searching out the issue

Of my blood,

Who never knew

They would be

Running swiftly to any

Of the four

Horizons to escape

Your careful ticking

In my head,

               We lived,

Instead,

In hiding,

 Stopping ears

And hearts while

Worlds we built slipped

Between our fingers

Sifting out

Into the sand.

.

II.

But we are

Still here

               Somehow,

And feel you,

               Strangely,

Not as a violent flash,

But as if we were

A clutch of hornets

Proud and

Dagger sharp

Drinking your thick

Golden stream,

Of honey dripping

From a tree.

You drape us in

Your slow insinuations

Until it is too late,

Our feet sweetly fixed

Where they had lighted,

               The tenacious meal

Cementing us in

Amber casings,

Iridescence shining out

From jeweled and

Empty eyes

Looking for all the world

As if they

Yet showed something

That could still be

Called alive.

.

III.

I don’t quite

               Remember

Even now,

               How

I am still here,

               But here I am,

Gazing back

Into the yellow glass.

I mark your countenance

In the faces

               Of my kin

And watch you

Meting out the measures

               Of their pain.

Have I become

Cold as I

Question how it is,

               Dear Consequence,

That you no longer stalk me,

Rather it is I

Who see you

From a far way off

Returning as a prodigal

From the wastes.

The times and seasons

Question if I am

But shedding my skin as

I run swiftly out to

Meet you,

               Bargaining away

My necktie

               For pearls

And my go-to-meeting suit

               For a dress of flowers

And my beard

               For a skin of softness

And walls of privilege

For the chance to be

——- A byword

—————– or a monster

———————————- or a joke

Breathing free.

I hand you back

That shell they

Held so tightly,

That once wept in careful corners

Before making plans to die,

               As it then held me both

Bound and divided until it

Fell away,

And I can wrap

                              You now

In colors of the days,

And lay my head

On your soft and

Understanding shoulder

As the music plays.

.

I know finally now,

I simply cannot fear

The yet uncovered places

That you carry us.

I count with you

The cadence of each tear,

Knowing deep inside:

.

—————— I am the blast radius.

.

• Lona Gynt December, 2019 (revised June 2020)

All rights reserved for text to Lona Gynt, June 2020. Images are from Pixaby, free for noncommercial use.

This poem was written originally in response to Amaya’s prompt on dVerse in December 2019 on Poetic Apostrophe, but it didn’t feel ready to see light until now. Here is the link to the original prompt.

MTB: O Apostrophe!

I am linking it today to Open Link Night hosted by Bjorn. Here is the link, join us for the last poetry trail before summer break.

Open Link Night #269