Friction
April 21 2023
It's the intersections,
the rough edges
where you rub up against.
Like tectonic plates
grinding past
in opposing directions.
Like borderlines, and watersheds
tree-lines
and fences.
Like friends,
who have taken offence,
people
you love too intently.
But what most comes to mind
are bulwarks and tidal waves.
How out at sea
it passes beneath
like an indifferent shrug of the shoulders.
But when water hits the shore
— solid vs liquid,
fluid vs fixed —
the collision's catastrophic.
Oil and water
life and death.
I remember
in the beginning
how bracing it felt.
Like flint striking rock,
hard on soft
in a brilliant shower of sparks.
Like invigorating cold
shocking a warm somnolent body.
Like opposites
that complement
in a creative rush.
But when our differences
became irreconcilable
I felt my world had ended,
a tsunami
that swept me away
gasping for breath.
How your wave levelled everything,
then quietly receded
into a flat featureless sea,
so calm
such power seemed inconceivable.
Except that now
I feel its menace,
a vast and brooding presence
ever there
lapping at the shore.
No way to know
when it will lash out again.
No comments:
Post a Comment