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Revision posted. Or more accurately reimagined.
I have been hounded by this poem ever since I posted it. Little did I know how it would bedevil me. I feel like I’m playing with the proverbial fire. Suffice it to say, it is not a subject that I feel in control of, as I guess it should be. Who can control them? Who can define them? Who can pin them down? What the fuck are they even? After days of mulling over how to resolve what I started, it came to me yesterday while visiting the grandkids. Their playroom has a large west-facing picture window where a prism dangles. On sunny late afternoons when the sun angles itself through the prism, the room suddenly fills with tiny rainbows scattered everywhere. That is what triggered the revision. I hope I can leave it at that.
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