THE TRASH, THE RAINBOW, AND THE POEM
On my way to take out the trash,
I saw a rainbow.
It was still raining.
I searched in my pocket.
No phone.
I couldn’t take a picture.
I went back to the house.
It was still raining.
The rainbow behind me.
Ahead of me, a glass of whisky
And the strange desire
To write a poem
About an elusive rainbow.
I wrote the poem, drank the whisky.
The rainbow was now in a poem,
Ahead of me, like all writing is.
An exercise towards the future,
A movement in time.
The poem was now inside the rainbow.
The whisky was now inside my liver.
The trash was now behind me
Inside a container
ready
to be
compacted.
Los relatos de Maurice Sparks 
Beautiful, it is a definition of poetry, that elusive image, that elusive rainbow, the poem inside the rainbow…
Muchas gracias
Ximena
Thank you, Ximena, for dropping by and leaving such an intelligent comment. 🙂
🙂
Ximena
It’s not my thing, Ernesto. But I like it. Short, concise. It is a poem or a short story full of poetry?
Thank you. Maybe it’s both. 🙂