Remembrance of things imperfect

Remembrance of Things Imperfect

It is the middle of a sunny summer day
I am running down the stairs
quickly and excitedly, with my neighbours following me.

We all want to see the Sun
It just fell down in the front yard
I saw it coming down like an overripe cantaloupe,
staining the sky with sticky, succulent golden juices.

There it is,
lying on the ground,
a giant orange, trampling the grass it landed on,
squirting its warm essence all over our bodies.

The neighbourhood dogs are running around,
barking at this strange visitor.
I approach it warily. I touch it.

It is warm and beautiful,
glistening in the mid-noon light.
I remember well the feelings of amazement, incredulity,
inexplicable joy overwhelming me
and the comical expressions of confusion
on the faces of my neighbours.

More by Boris Glikman

WAKING UP TO LIFE, by Boris Glikman

Boris Glikman: The Shadow of the Great Nebula of Orion

One Response