Conversation
Meredith Olsson
You and I are familiar
With the Tower of Babel
Brick by brick,
Hand in hand,
Reaching toward distant stars.
We had no need
For a language with
Complex connotation
Or missed metaphors.
Words were spoken
In more simple terms:
A heavy sigh.
A small smile.
A kiss, conveying more than
A thousand poems.
As the Tower climbed upwards,
So too did our dreams.
Tomorrow had never seemed
Quite so close
As when you were by my side.
But it was not meant to be.
And the Lord did not need
To fell our tower
With a great wind
Or a holy rage.
It crumbled, slowly,
When your sigh seemed incomprehensible.
When my smile turned sour and sarcastic,
When a kiss was no more
Than a polite exchange.
Our body language
Became one filled with small talk.
Our hands discussed the weather;
Our eyes commented on work.
Our Tower of Babel
Crashed down around us.
And when we were left,
Standing in the broken rubble
Of cold conversation,
There was nothing more to say.
Fall, 2019 Issue