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

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