Understand (poem)
Understand
The mystery, the public mystery, of the clan
Closeted in a dusty morning room, its shrouds
New lifted, drinking coffee in the shimmy
Of sunlight through blinds and pushing clouds
Shows each face in shining pallor, jowls
Full and clear-etched, think of Grandpa nestled
Midst the tinsel
They have brought him down to share the holiday
When under strain with trepidation
Celadon with thin projections like a fish’s fins
At sea he waited for a lead and eyed his friends
The angry help of a housebound neighbor
Entrusted with the work of
Or positioned among the bric-à-brac like
A secretary
Furnishing in the guest’s discomfiture
Such merriment as to recall a quip
In your dotage you may learn to dance
For you admire the movements so
It’s not too late, but NO I would never be that person
If you saw a wrathful indignation
Uselessness but yet important
No mind so set alight
By gossip would attack for pleasure
Understand
What, then, if it were too late
No, nothing reasoned into an act
Of belief
Vendetta only sarcasm wept over
While they chit-chat and threaten to go off
Understand
The Lab-Grown Brain Makes Short Fiction
(2019, Stephanie Foster)