Elephants

From childhood’s Dumbo

and the baby elephant

in The Jungle Book,

then collectibles in

various woods, stones, metals;

carvings with trunks upraised

for Good Luck;

these have comforted me.

Metaphorically,

they’ve crushed me

at times when my chest

feels a pressure,

a crushing wieght

oppressing heart and lungs;

“feels like an elephant sitting on my chest,”

but really now,

poor elephant;

I don’t know how that would feel.

People say,

“the elephant in the room”

referring to that which

cannot be spoken;

when social convention

dictates silence:

awkwardness and discomfort,

don’t confront it,

don’t talk about it;

as if the elephant can be ignored.

I love my little statues,

and my Disney memories;

I dread the pressure of illness,

when breath comes gasping;

these comforts and pains

I have learned to live with;

they are expected.

I loathe the one who lumbered

into our room,

unwelcome and ridiculous,

is he to be supreme?

perhaps

he will prevail

with his destructive rampage,

and I shall leave the room.

© ACG
24 March 2010