What You Don't Notice

It’s the shock of what you don’t notice—

A comment burning through the a/c firmament

Fading like wisdom from the edge of a pipe

Slow fall, slow burn, slow down.

What is light hungry for that it casts us stark,

glows until we have outlines dark

Against the hammer of sensation, there is sight—

And where it lives, is light.

What if we are not protagonist at heart,

Just the flash it strikes as it marks

A bumper from the goal, obstacle or blight—

We devour what it leaves behind.

What if we are pulse, beat, solid jar,

Only rhythm that deviates the dark?

It’s the shock of what you don’t know—

Ignorance blazing through cold comment

Catching like ashes in the park at night

Slow flame, slow walk, slow town.

So...this week's prompt (courtesy of The Sunday Muse & being cross-posted for The Muse #10) forked out of the gate, like lightning. One branch was related to a comment about seeing yourself in the background, rather than the foreground and the other branch remained firmly foreground. The poem relates to the first and I'm working on what the latter might become (perhaps just a welcome distraction draft as I try to get ready for unexpected guests over the 4th) ((what, don't tell me all your Christmas decorations are already put away)) (((no, really, don't tell me.))) ((((see, we were going to have a late Christmas with family and when that didn't happen...well...there is a pile of sad-looking decorations on a table in our den)))). 

In addition to the Muse, this is also cross-posed with Poets United for Poetry Pantry #408. Hope you're having a warm and sunny writing week and all your reading is escapist in the best way! :)

-- Chrissa