There is a counterpart to ourselves. Neither stalking nor lurking, but appearing in front, like a distant mirror, distorted in dissonance, unrecognizable, familiar only by a memory. It tempts. It shames. It takes the form of others, seeing what could be, what should be. Taunting with images of protection, selfless, love, unconditional, elevated, perfect!
A basket carried at the crook of an elbow, with arm bowed close to the chest and a hovering conscience stares and asks; what goods are these? Circumventions and renouncements lying at the smoldering fountainhead as the ash plumes from the depths of this barren weave…and the wind is strong. Finding a measure so low and foul it is tossed to the dust with a sigh.
Gravitating toward its immaculate being, reaching desperately for it. But with a touch we recoil to find that this counterpart is only an ideal projected in our sight. Even with this knowledge there is a great distance from such a pedestal. So we grind away, clearing excess, trimming gristle and easing chaos at an intangible, impenetrable marble face, knowing that with such a goal as this, the grind could only be decay.
But this will be our toll for we will not subside. We will not digress.
“Counterpart” was printed in Tracks, No. 9 of Inwood Indiana. Pick up the paperback from Prolific Press; the stories and poems published online are free to read here.
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