Around Me Grew A Secret

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On a bus stop bench today
opposite Crystal Palace park
a sphere of silver appeared
and passing buses warped
the metal melted, ads peeled off
bystanders blasted, eyebrows singed
the trees flashed sauna-hot
a curve of grey and drizzle lifted
I hid my laughter that
nobody seemed to notice and
the orb of clutter-thoughts
that dangle round my head
like strips of ripped skirt tied to branches
vanished. Oh! How they’d obscured the view!
Now it is clear those shabby tokens,
gifts given in hope of something else,
could never reach the Giver.
He does not do cupboard love, a
worship born of wanting –
‘Take this time of mine but
give me what I wish for,
with all due respect. No, not that one –
I said I wanted it in red!’
But on the bus stop bench
around me grew a secret:
This is always here
while we in earth robes walk
as though we’re mountains.
This is always here.
Once you’ve been shown it
you cannot unknow it.
This is always here.

Medina Tenour Whiteman, Jan 2013

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