Arranged Until Gone

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Arranged Until Gone

We arranged the shapes,
my five year old and I.
She at the beginning of her elementary pages
through points to triangles
while I regularly left the comfortable circle.

As for triangles that fit into square boxed lines,
we needed two to make a square.

She counted sides of rectangles,
two long and two short.
My shortened thoughts fit neatly into
a small square that started in a simple circle
then elongated as time went on.

Labeling the figures, we both colored them.
Corners, sides, sorting, counting until organized.
I enjoyed the colored figures more and more
just as she did learning them.
Some could say they were going blind
when they couldn't see me well.

I even wanted the colors to fit with the shapes.
Each day patterns were made and felt just the same.
My image was disappearing as I worked.

We arranged the boxes; squares to rest inside each other
starting with the smallest and ending with a great big box.
"Mommy this is fun". she would say.

She at the beginning of her elementary pages,
and I perfecting my rearranging for all to see
for a lifetime as I disappeared.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

vickijane’s Poems (5)

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Arranged Until Gone 0
Paradox 0
Venus 0
Puffy 0
the moon 0