| Topic: |
Science > Philosophy |
| User: |
"X" |
| Date: |
04 Mar 2007 06:05:02 PM |
| Object: |
So we spooned rice |
So we spooned rice
and shades of gray
from our plates
nighttime swooped
my belated
guest
As winter expired
I thought
the seasons
four
and of what should have
come next
I say,
"We keep repeating the same cycle:
Spring
to Summer
Falls
Winter
and in the release of death
Winter returns us
back to birth
and Spring
24 hours a day
Seven days a week
with a return trip to Monday"
looking up from
my dark dish
empty
but a stain of moisture
I ask,
"Have you ever wondered what month, and day falls beyond
February and Sunday?"
"March and Monday,"
she says dryly.
"I was hoping..."
I looked up
and her face sank
in the shadow of
overhead light
and weary re-telling
of time-worn projection
"...I was looking forward to something entirely aberrant
for those untried months,
implausible days,
and unknown seasons
still wrapped
airless in cellophane
that were meant to
fall beyond
don't you think there's something wrong
with a CD playing the same piece of music
the same way
over and over again?
Shouldn't it be evolving subtlety with every listen?
It's like we continue to replay the same game
are perpetually penalized
forever sent back to
start."
Her fork
halting before
it entered
her mouth
tumbles rice
falling
upon her dish
And
with
eye contact
freshly unwrapped plastic
a spark of blue light
and smile
"there's always death"
she says
.
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