He is more than what I made of him
I tried putting him in a box
To define his boundaries.
I put him in a story that
Didn’t end well. I tied a ribbon
Around his heart and it broke free.
Left alone, I completed his details.
I tried making him Satan and savior.
He fell short of both.
I saw him as a tarnished penny then a diamond being shaved.
I tried clothing him in deceit,
But that suit was ill fit.
I tried coloring him with puce and pewter.
He remained radiant.
I then deconstructed his ingredients like a recipe:
Two-cups father, one-cup grandfather,
two teaspoons each of brother, son, friend.
Finally, I understood…
He is more than what I made of him.
I tried to weigh him down, to keep him for myself.
Holding on didn’t work, so I released,
Then learned -- His haiku is a love song
His short story a novella and his narrative contains
Plotlines I couldn’t foresee.
Jeri Thompson lives in a sunny big city in So Cal, pushed up against the sea. She spends time writing, watching old movies (1930-40s) and takes long walks when global warming doesn't get in the way. She has appeared in Chiron Review, Silver Birch Press, Lummox 4, and Blaze/VOX.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.