By Aimee Mackovic
It feels like the world is coming to an end
you muse as we walk. Some twang guitar drifts
near the party we just left. You’re calm. A smile
tries itself on your lips almost convinced to land
despite such a mood. The sun is dropping its beautiful hammer
and it’s true the future feels like a dragonfly
in flight, iridescent wings wild and conspicuous as they come.
It’s not, I joke, but your words linger like a smudge.
What’s to distinguish between an end and a beginning?
Aren’t they both like paints often smudged
together so they seem the same? Day comes
again each morning as night saunters off, and dragonflies
care for both. It’s these quiet moments that hammer
our souls till we break, like a vase that lands
insides exposed. Don’t you know, friend, the best smile
is pain rearranged? The sweet spot is between the drifts.
If you’re wondering how long the dragonfly flies- till the end.
Copyright Mackovic 2017