The Power of Invisibility

June 17 2014

The cloudy liquid.

The smooth meniscus

that clings to glass.

The turbid surface, undisturbed

covered 
in fine brown scum.

The dry leaves

about to drop,

edges curling, turgor gone.  

As quickly as newsprint, left in the sun

brittles and fades.

Old newspapers

that aren’t worth saving. 

And the velvet petals

in their vivid paint,

now delicate, and thin

as aging skin.

An untended flower

wilts

even in cool shade.

But take care, and little changes,

except it dies

a day or 2 later

at best.

Rootless, fruitless, plain

the birds and bees

have moved on to more brilliant blooms, tempting scents.

Like all old things

the power of invisibility

is all that’s left.

Leaves floating

on airless water,

petals scattered

at the base of the vase.

And who has ever

seen them drop?

A fun party game is to ask everyone which super-power they’d chose:  flight, or invisibility. The first time I heard this, the answer was obvious, and I immediately laughed to/at myself:  I’m already utterly invisible. Flight, of course! Who would possibly chose to be invisible?!!

We all become increasingly invisible as we get older. I think women, especially, who go from resenting the “male gaze” to secretly longing to once again be the object of attention, of mystery and desire. In the poem, the neglected flower becomes a metaphor for this near universal experience.

(I think the correct pronunciation of "vase" is with a long "a": as in "vAYse". But here, it only works if you say it the way I usually do, which is the more breathy "vAAHz": then it works nicely with "water" and "drop".)