Why are we not all born
with a jester attached?
With us until we die.
To keep us awake.
To remind us of the truth.
To fill mortality with laughter
and the jingle of bells?
If the jester
listens to her jester
as the brain listens to the heart
she may eventually find peace
among the flow and thrust
of our twisted ribbons.
Are we finally saved then,
can I relax now
or did i get it wrong again?
I’m certain I saw a family resemblance
and, it was only yesterday was it not
that the ferryman winked at me?
And although the days are losing definition
I’m certain it was the same day
you made a necklace out of acorns
and hung it around my neck, laughing.
The partnership is blessed
at the same moment.
The breast to the memory stone.
Not a circle after all but an arc.
And all is suddenly Carnival,
bright and loud and gilded,
showing the folds and creases
of pockets and wallets and bags
as we leave them at the door.
free to dance.
The Jester and her Jester. 18×14″. Acrylic on paper on panel.
Painting and poem by clinock.