I can think a thing a long time
with the words going
round and round
inside my head
like the gray gruel
mixing in a cement truck
but once I say those thoughts
once those words
escape my mouth
pour out
become exposed to air
everything changes.
The minute they’re out
they start to solidify.
Too late now
to scoop them up
shove them back
for they’ve already begun
to work their alchemy
changing the elements
inside me, inside you
hardening —
a shameful statue
a concrete wall
a cold gray memorial
between us.
© 2003 by Violet Nesdoly
***************
Violet Nesdoly 
I checked out the photo of the cement mixers. very appropo.
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Isn’t it! Even to the bugged expression on the face of the man you can see.
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Hi Violet:
You’ve hit the metaphor perfectly (or as close as metaphor gets). The “Prairie Messenger” image suits well too. I remember others they’ve matched with poems (mine included) that had been so well selected.
Don
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Thanks so much for coming by Don!
Thanks too for the heads-up about your new blog. I’m looking forward to reading it regularly. Have linked it in the sidebar under “Poem Sites.”
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