Last July

I wrote this poem last July.  I was reading back through things to find something worthy to post.  Friends have now commented that I haven't added anything new, so . . . pressure builds.

The dance circles around you

on your dais – with your gavel.

Pronouncements  follow -

who is worthy . .. who is not.

Each step analyzed.

Must be within prescribed limits -

within strict control.

Must be nice to be so certain

that you are the ultimate judge

of their worthy submission.

7/12/10 

tsr

I always end my poems the way my mother did.  You could tell hers from others that she collected because she ended with her initials and the date.  I liked that idea, so I've done the same since I was in fourth grade.  Since I collect snippets from everyone – whether written or said by pretty much anyone around me, I need a system. 

The question I'm asking myself today is . . . what was this poem about?  I wasn't actively involved with the legal system so it's a metaphor.  I have no memory of the disagreement that precipitated this poem.  I can tell that I felt judged – apparently negatively. 

I suppose I could investigate.  Look back in Facebook, emails, my pda.  Who was I feeling answerable to?  Who was I so afraid of? 

The truth is I’d rather not know.  The thing about art is that it captures that moment as perfectly as it can.  The imperfection is the things that are missing – the negative space that it does not capture.  In some ways I think that the unsaid says as much as what is said.  The unadorned canvas is very much a part of the overall impression of the art itself.

The larger context of the poem, although interesting, really wasn’t meant to be captured.  So, what I know is that on July 12^th . . . this was where I was.  That is enough for me.