Image for the poem A Wedge of the World

A Wedge of the World

I own a folding screen chiseled
out of teak, painted skimpily,
in that style that does not conceal
the wood grain and the carving,

My desk is built into a corner,
the wooden screen guards my back,
it has shaped me solace, carved
me a small wedge of the world.

Behind me, the family room,
the breakfast meal under covers,
today it is a picture, the table,
past lunch, waits to be visited.

Behind me, television and noise
about the poison in the air,
the noise has curious fingers
that clasp the edge of the panel.

On my right, a window spooks
the village park, normally
source of screeches and squeaks
of rubber soles running up slides.

Nearest me is a swing, the sort
with seats and laughter that face
each other, but today the park
is a picture of none and not there.

They have disallowed the shrieks,
but I just heard a swing squeak,
a girl with mask sits on one side,
while holding the leash to her dog,

Dog and I watch this young subversive
as she jerks and breaks the rules,
trying to make the swing work,
trying to make the picture move.
Written by Alviola
Published | Edited 15th Jan 2022
Author's Note
It is a true story. The village is under strict quarantine, and I work in a corner that overlooks a park that is a joy to watch. Today, a girl broke into the park -- broke the rules -- and unfroze the world.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3 reading list entries 3
comments 6 reads 367
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 1:16pm by Ahavati
Today 1:08pm by Ahavati
Today 11:47am by Abracadabra
Today 2:02am by SweetKittyCat5
Yesterday 8:34pm by Rew