Luncheon

Ice luncheon.
Ice luncheon.

Garden workers flittering

Like ladybugs in dirt-covered

Canvasses to hide their wings.

In they come, on after another,

Exchanging outer layers

For sharp knives and spoons.

A single pile lays on the table

Reserved for feasts and mead

Where they sit a quiet captive.

An embargo on melodic tones

For their exchange has high tariffs,

He arrested for illegal trade.

Behind a transparent embroidery

Hanging from the frame

Like an impenetrable suicide barrier.

Clearing throats and loud swallowing

Echo off high spirits and iron stove

As the workers sustain their communion.

They wonder aloud why it is

The warmth behind the shawl

Refuses to eat what they eat.

“It sustains the bones, refreshes

Wearied brows and knotted bristles

Of brooms shaved from lion’s manes!

Why scorn what is offered with

Honey lips that sup from kingly cups?

A missing piece to nobody’s puzzle.”

They cannot capture cryptic skies

That seep from catacomb stocks

Is how they feel when they conference.

Sudden cries then smoke with no fire;

A family of hushed whispers

Blinding eyes avoiding loose spark next door.

Children and wars are seen and not heard,

But he is no bellicose youth,

He is a ghost with mayflower crown.

He has the most in his banquet bouquet,

Gifts brought to life from darkened tombs

Warm and earthy, unlike his hall.

Into obscurity once more he floats

As if on palm frond in frothy seas

Familiar to him yet foreign to all around.

Food won’t satisfy like starved ghosts

In the lower realms of the family’s Buddha;

They give him the most yet nothing at all.

Composed 07/15/2012

Author’s Note: Sometimes you wonder about your integration skills when everyone leaves when you enter the room. Half of the time it’s just so that they can get you some tea or candy, though.

Previous Posts

Parent Teacher Extravaganza (Prose)

Scandal (Poetry)

Next Posts

Children’s Day (Prose)

Believer On The Steppe (Poetry)

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