Frayed
a response to this prompt by Zev, for Chalkboard
Gazing too long, my oriental rug —
Draws me into black, with red
Or was it red with black?
White forces contrast, mocking
Me in purity of swirls, pattern set
While mine own shifts,
A Monet of dribs and drabs
Liking to think they made
A full portrait, now the walls
Close in on a Rorschach
I always preferred Pissarro,
Her delicate touch, commanding
Less attention, my uncrowded view
Which direction am I regal?
Which am I fraud?
Nothing about me
Has ever been easy
Enough to be called
Casual, except in moments
Of quiet contemplation
Where hands fly to purpose,
Mind coils up in strike position
Waiting for the call
To release the powder,
And strike my mark
Except I only shoot
When it’s pitch black
The ends of my rug
Fray carelessly against
My frustration
I brush them into place,
One more time
