Posted in Poetry

One’s Self – En Masse

Upside-down, warped butter crust resting on the speckled-like-a-robin’s-egg-if-it-weren’t-neutral brown counter-top, you lie there, golden soldiers or yellow-brick road tiles, not sure which, nearly perfect symmetry, all in a row, except for one wounded warrior who rose and rested too close to the flame of the oven, with a lightly bruised and burned shoulder, but all else the same as the rest, yet it is what makes you stand out from the rest, catching my eye, wondering if I see mold, no, it’s not mold, just an injury that makes you the slice I leave behind when I make turkey sandwiches for our Thursday lunch, in hopes that you will be, instead, singled out for a solitary honor, like toast or better yet, a crustless straw hat where that ugly  birthmark can be shaved off – it’s painless, I promise – and you will be glorious like the others, no, more so, because they shall continue to be all lined up, yellow-gold, bland, white bread squares, one sandwich like any other, and you alone shall be the Marilyn Monroe with that beauty mark, or I could just turn the loaf over, set it up-right, hiding your shame, pretending I see only the tops, each one perfectly Orwellian like the others, wonderful rectangle of tan, lines demarking the individuality that would spill out like dominoes if I slid the plastic wrapper off with the flourish of a magician all at once, showing off your nakedness, breaking down the barriers of the loaf into its geometric components.


dragonflies hatching

rise from the lake to follow

their own curved road to Oz

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

qbit is our guest-host at dVerse this week for Haibun.

Author:

A wild soul writing poetry.

32 thoughts on “One’s Self – En Masse

  1. This reads like a stream of consciousness and I am inhaling it in 1 big gulp, before hungrily biting into a sandwich. Love the share Jilly, including the dragonflies hatching in the haiku part.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I agree with Grace about the steam-of-conscious quality of your prose, Jill. I love the ‘ golden soldiers or yellow-brick road tiles’ and the echo of Oz in the haiku, and feel sorry for the ‘wounded warrior who rose and rested too close to the flame of the oven’. My husband took up baking bread some months ago – he won’y eat shop-bought bread now – and we have so many sacks of different types of flour spilling out of the cupboard! But oh, the smell and taste of that bread! My favourite part is:’lined up, yellow-gold, bland, white bread squares, one sandwich like any other, and you alone shall be the Marilyn Monroe with that beauty mark’.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You write a haibun as a tease, with prose as crisp and free as after dinner banter–making me, at least, pine for reading more of your work. Stream-of-consciousness can lead to magical places and spaces; really enjoyed this.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is so good, with full points for “you alone shall be the Marilyn Monroe ” Ahahah! And shame! Wonderfully unexpected and a great rising yeast of words. Not a blemish in sight after all.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. This is a remarkable write, Jilly! The meditation on the gem among the mundane. Your slice is the hero, marked — like Harry, like Bilbo, like Frodo — set aside by the mark for adventure. No everyday lunch for this one. No, not those others, but Dorothy set on a golden road (straw hat of Oz)! This one will break free, dragonfly-like, and soar!

    A star is baked.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. kaykuala

    I slid the plastic wrapper off with the flourish
    of a magician all at once, showing off your
    nakedness, breaking down the barriers of
    the loaf into its geometric components.

    Talking of a simple loaf but in Hank’s imagination, the rise of a beautiful
    lady with no weapons but the attraction of her classic body structure to
    conquer the world – faced with small components of easy meat – the
    unsuspecting males!
    Classic write Jilly!

    Hank

    Like

  7. Your conversation with your yeasty “wounded warrior” here is inspiring me to, not only go make a sandwich, but to write freely, at a pace where only (ironically) meditation can take us. And my favorite descriptor of the loaf was it being “perfectly Orwellian.”

    Liked by 1 person

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