COMPETITION | THE ART OF BEING ALONE

Elephant

A poem

Image via Freepik, edited by the author.

Abandoned at the thrift shop,
She must have grown cold.
I picked her up, found a
warmer shelf, lovingly
dusted her back, polished the tusks,
and held her long enough
to give her a soul.

Pink porcelain elephant,
faded black eyes, a broken ear —
Still, she listens to me.
Her trunk reaches for my eyes,
pats them dry, and her lips stretch
into fullness, a smile warm
as a meal in Antarctic fields.

Around us, meadows made of four walls;
on this bed, we’re somewhere by a riverbank,
munching hot berries, making sweet indigo jam
of bitter memories — war stories
of how we came to miss a limb or two.

Oh, little pink elephant in my room,
my day in her lifetime, a century —
alone again, I will be.
But merry was her company.