The Game-poem

Your move;
Your immobility.
Your silence.
My abyss.
Our precipice on our table with all the cards
laid out.

The hourglass is gone-
my fingernails scream, raw from the sands
that should have flowed from me to you-
instead, they fled far and wide-

I think I got some in my eye,
‘cause there’s a puddle on the table
and it won’t dry.

I gave you time
though it was only a second,
it was more than sufficient
‘cause I’ve heard the parable
that life’s full of moments,
and moments make life
worth living-

living, loving, silence, puddles-
I can’t connect the four.

our life moments are trapped in the continuum,
the infuriating snakes-and-ladders board
in the game of you and I-
I want to watch the corners curl
in the flames of forgetting memories
while I play my turn,
sit in fury,
waiting for your chip to be bet,
to slide, or better yet to climb-
just to move!

so this moment can die

and you’ll live as You
without the I