Laughter dies a cruel but temporary deathlaughter
only seconds after my arrival home.
Withered amidst strain; slackening, slighted.
Bitten through, the instant hangs hateful and hard,
typically lacking grace and form.
Evening greetings are lost among refrigerator odors.
The kitchen walls give way to padded ropes.
Cloaks cast down, we slowly snarl and circle
(we two who pledged to keep us only to…).
Flailing with trembling and flaccid fingers,
better at keeping score than slashing sinews.
Yet laughter arises again, between us,
Casting a glow of embarrassing hue
across the sink and counter.
Blame the stress, or life, or brittle waiting
(but blame us too)
Laughter will die again, and die, and stiffen.
And laughter will surely rise…?
but no, not surely.
Under the weight of tentative trust,
many threads may fail to hold.
May we trust the laughter’s constant source,
despite the redundant rising of rage!
 

Additional poetry by Peter C. Blum may be found in The Imaginative Conservative Bookstore.

All comments are moderated and must be civil, concise, and constructive to the conversation. Comments that are critical of an essay may be approved, but comments containing ad hominem criticism of the author will not be published. Also, comments containing web links or block quotations are unlikely to be approved. Keep in mind that essays represent the opinions of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Imaginative Conservative or its editor or publisher.

Leave a Comment
Print Friendly, PDF & Email