artwork: ralph murre
UNGLUED
by Maureen Hand
The sun’s crisp rays crawl through that
pane of dust
and dreams and point straight at the
glaring glue
stuck on the green and gold wallpapered
wall.
I remember when it first
unfurled some
years ago, and I thought I could restick
it. With the grace of a gazelle, I
climbed
to the top of the ladder. I spread the
glue, caressed the wound, and coaxed,
but it would
not adhere, and you announced, “It’s
too late,”
as glue oozed out like blood, and you
just shook
your head. I should have known when it
first pulled
away. I should have known it would be
hard
to fix. I should have known some rips
tear for
a reason. Now, that glitter of glue
smirks
like a scar that is no longer bleeding.
~ first
published in FLUTTER POETRY REVIEW
