2We grew up
in the early afternoon hours
of forever, entranced by
kaleidoscope kisses projected on
drywall canvas by
stained glass curtains.
But no, they weren't curtains. They were
windows,
carefully cut and fitted
by the lowest bidder,
and the drywall was no more
canvas than
she was a saint.
That never bothered her until
she was twenty-three,
when her childhood life behind those
windows
was recklessly deconstructed
by a higher bidder.
Then the abbots called them
deadlights,
and the drywall suddenly failed
to meet prismatic standards.
It was carried away
to a place where
the baseness of drywall was needed,
where it was propped up and paved with
story boards of the resurrection,
so that cherubs could justify protecting it
from the heretic refractions of
kaleidoscope curtains.
10 January 2008
Revised 11 January 2008