Eight: Self-Control (poetry series)

 

 

 

Self-Control

 

We enter the scene at an awkward moment

pending the interview where the two

where alive to tell the other’s fate

he shuffles a windowed passage talking over

under breath, his listening mind hears sound of words

his warning mind the rendering of account

the relations come the mythic ancient

in sedan chair delivered by sons and daughters

The story is a honeymoon story

 

You have this

a past to draw visuals from

a future to foresee the passings

of error, choice to right error

error again, rare freaks of risking

memory to measure things you’ve felt

feel this moment less and differently

or more and with less cause

you have been tired, dirt, diet…

tried, kept by questions, sometimes eager

sometimes feathered stinking falsehoods

a barnyard bird, you think, come roosting

to squawk in your tray of later’s to-dos

but slighting

lacking the rein

all within your self-control the chance to act in time

pride within that

anger within that

self-flattery within that

currying within that

putting off within that

assuming much within that

self-pity within that

envy within that

temptation within that

avarice within that

fearfulness within that

lassitude within that

bigotry within that

bad counsel, given and taken, within that

bad prayers for tiny terraces of cataclysm

to rivet eyes in a magic way and leave you unattended

each thing of import mild but threatening the next

 

The mother says, “You live and she is dead.”

 

 

 

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Self-Control

Crumbs Enough

question

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2020, Stephanie Foster)