There should be a zipper in the backSo on days like this we could unzipStep out of it, fold it carefully, thenLeave it on the kitchen counter, andOut we go, without beauty, withoutRace, just crisscrosses of pink andShades of red, some off whites, andGreys, fat and bones, some musclesAnd all those veins and arteries thatKeep us going; it’s easy enough toImagine, we’d go around like one ofThose biology class torsos, visible manVisible woman, all our working partsExposed, ready to be pointed out, orPulled out and examined if need be;There would be equality in all thisA new nakedness, a different sense ofOurselves and others, of how we move
And how we should fill our space and time.
The Incomplete Angler
There should be something catchy to call him,The casting castaway, the incomplete angler,Something to catch his actions, his presence,His hours of walking the pier, flicking his lineInto the water between the boats, his jerkingHis line while walking, reeling in and castingOver and over, without the encouragementOf a catch, a fish of any sort, it’s movementWithout results, without a pause, and at somePoint each day he removes his shirt, continuesBrowning and burning the hours away, walkingCasting, flicking the line; everyone watches him,We all do, waiting for the fish that never appears,He never stops to bait the hook or check his lure,It’s as if nothing were wrong, he plays his part,The fish play theirs, none at all, fishing withoutThe fish, dancing without the dance, he moves on,The incomplete angler, content, contained, while
The rest of us expect to find a fish on every line.
Truth and BeautyIt’s not so much whereor when, or even howwe find them,it’s that we still dothat surprises us most.We expect so little,but sometimes ifwe sit perfectly stillhold our breathslift our feet just soand suspend all our reasonsto disbelievewe find them.We find themhere and over thereand if we look quicklythere’s some moretrying to hide over there.We find themand they’re ours,at least for that momentthey’re ours.J.K. Durick firstname.lastname@example.org
J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Social Justice Poetry, Tuck Magazine, Yellow Chair Review,Madswirl, and Haikuniverse.