that’s how the piece is marked,
to be performed with a mood of
mystery and secrecy,
perhaps it speaks of a quiet enigma.
Through these bars and notes I will troupe,
exploring the shaded corners,
casting aside the yawning awnings of protection
from the vividness of truth,
there are certain things here which need identifying,
items that cannot be denied.
A trinket here, a seashell, a fuchsia handbag there,
what do these accumulated items mean?
The glass trinket falls,
shatters or cracks,
either way, it’s done for.
The seashell houses a little mollusc,
a curled life that doesn’t wish to budge,
she is protected, you see,
safe from all things,
unless something or someone nasty comes crawling in to see.
What’s in your bag? a petulant child will call.
Can I see inside?
No, no, no.
Inside are my secrets, my misterioso relics,
perhaps even something living,
a best friend of sorts —
we only deal with interpretation.
I can unravel the mysteries because I have the keys,
each I have inserted into multiple locks that makes the
circumstances and facts easier to view,
now a gaping treasure-trove of
what-say-you, and how-do-you-do?
Shyness aside, I am here for you
with colloquial truth.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
Image by ThuyHaBich from Pixabay
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