i wrote a page of my life
very hastily, as i usually scrawl
in black ink across a sheet
demarked with lines —
then i came to the climax
of that tale and didn’t know
what to say, so i waited for inspiration —
when it came it was both
anti-climax and comedic ending —
(sans the wedding, naturally)
the resolution brought me joy
and i came to a full stop.
so now the fable is walled away
with the amontillado and bells
that jingled merrily for a time
but now are silenced without rhyme.
perhaps another day i shall
tear down the bricks and
peep in at that page to see
what happened to the characters
i dreamily crafted, but the
mortar is setting and the bricks
are flushly aligned and neat —
my grandfather was a bricklayer.
behind that wall the past
lies stifled. today i hid
the amontillado for the
sake of a free future. like
benedick, i conclude that
man is a giddy thing.
