Smirking Dragon

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Smirking Dragon

As the sun settled into soft angles

just above igniting western skies,

 

it spotlights a cumulus cloud curiously

shaped like a coiled, smirking dragon

lazily floating eastbound, her neck and

 

grinning head preening north by northwest,

drawing your attention toward Orcas Island

 

and one of the most perfect moments of

your life, when you were inexplicably

comfortable in your own skin while both

 

alone and in unfamiliar company

at a destination wedding you attended

 

against your will, watching two outliers

pledge their lives to each other as you’d done

twice over, with the second time inexplicably

 

working out much better than the first,

which compelled you to make that journey

 

in the first place to that unfamiliar island

surrounded by unacquainted people

to witness an unfamiliar couple

 

pledge their lives to one another in a

series of moments the smirking dragon

 

reminds you that can only be described as perfect.

As the dragon cranes her neck northwestward,

it evaporates into the ether,

 

leaving only her fluffy scaly body and

a disembodied smirking head, which also

 

slowly vanished from misty existence

leaving you wondering why your second

attempt at sharing your world with a woman

 

worked wonders while your first effort failed

spectacularly, or why your second trip to

 

Orcas Island was fun, but not nearly as

magical as that first one, or why that beautiful

smiling couple of strangers beginning their lives

 

together ultimately could not fulfil

their pledge to one another even after

 

committing to create another beautiful,

smiling, giggling, spunky stranger together, but

then it hits you as the headless dragon corpse

 

became just another cloud fading away from

the settling sun, which ignites the western sky

 

as eastern clouds are devoured by earth’s shadow.

We often chase perfect destinations

seeking to relive perfect moments, as

 

if we were living ghosts who for fleeting

moments have forgotten how to live. But

 

we have far more in common with misting

smirking cumulus dragons that we see

than the ghosts we chase in familiar places.

***

 

Shared at imaginary garden with real toads.

The Trouble with Bonding

Kintsugi

Image source: Google

The Trouble with Bonding

My fractures run deep

with jagged curves back in time

misaligned by variances between

what was and what should’ve been.

 

I pretended

to be whole

again and again,

blending my façade

with her charade,

becoming a beautiful lie

that died

the moment we tried

rocky weather together

whenever and wherever

our rhyme got sloppy and

disjointed.

 

We pointed out each other’s flaws

and clawed ourselves apart. My heart

mistook love for a pleasure found

oozing pillow-talk

into the next girl’s

midnight bedsheets;

repeatedly pressed this error

into her replacement’s bed too,

but she fled my good intentions

just as I was finding leverage

to press solid meaning into her…

into her…

 

Are these mildly lewd sex metaphors

doing anything for you? Because

I could probably say plainly that

 

I had mostly good sex

with mostly good women

for mostly bad reasons

 

not for love, pleasure,

not even for affection

mostly, a self-deception

 

as I mostly engaged in the self-delusion

that I loved them

or that I loved myself, when

 

I was clearly too broken to do either,

 

but I suppose it’s better that I couch it

in some wrecked flower and

tangled bedsheet nonsense.

 

I’m wrecking the rhythm of this poem.

I apologize. Now, where was I?

 

Into her wake,

serene surface broken

by her rippling,

departing waves

I wandered,

my fractures,

deep with jagged

curves back in time

misaligned

by variances between

what was her own brokenness and

what should’ve been

her pristine perfection that

should’ve saved us both

but didn’t.

 

Looking back, I know now that her imperfections

were perfectly wondrous and uniquely lovely.

But it took another woman with her own unique

deep, jagged, fractures curving into my own

that helped me appreciate my own failings

from wondrous newly tacked angles.

 

This poem is uneven

and not as pretty

as I had hoped it would be.

 

But it is pure gold

where it needs to be.

***

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Kintsugi: Art of Mending, Posted by Sumana Roy.