We were at that point
in the pattern
of the argument
(if we had seen the pattern
we wouldn’t have fought)
. . . we were at that point
where my exaggeration
of your transgression
(and we both know it was,
let’s face it) became
unpardonable to you,
and you rejected it
entirely, while to me
it seemed only a tiny flaw
to say you always do
whatever it was
I said you did
which now I can’t recall.
My point is: Why did my verbal
recklessness become
the excuse for you
to negate my point entirely?
But there we were,
backed into our corners
and with dinner already ruined
what did we have to lose
by not persisting
in this folly,
And so you countered,
telling me
how wrong I always get you
and I remember
seeing clearly
in that moment
that the solution
to our dilemma
was to
mutually acknowledge
that our experience
of the other had no claim on truth
and could be, should be,
even if mangled by hurt
and distorted by projection–
a starting point
for deeper exploration.
Instead, we were
as helpless as the cats,
who are
neurologically
incapable of
not following
the purple feather
we dangle over their heads.
We were at that
precise point
in the pattern
of the argument
(an argument has
a pattern though
if we could see it
we wouldn’t be arguing)
. . . we were at that point
where my slight exaggeration
of your transgression
(and we both know it was,
let’s face it) became
unpardonable to you,
and you rejected it
entirely, while to me
it seemed only a tiny flaw to say
you always did whatever it was
(I can never remember
later what it was).
Why should my verbal
recklessness
be an excuse for you
to negate the point
but there we were
backed into our corners
and with dinner already ruined
what did we have to lose
by not persisting
in this folly
and so you countered
telling me
how wrong I always get you
(I no longer remember
what I always get wrong
but I do remember
seeing clearly
in that instant
as if lightning had struck
that the solution
was to back out of this
essentially epistemological
dilemma
and to just, I don’t know,
mutually
acknowledge
that our experience
of the other
had no claim on truth
and could be
however mangled by hurt
distorted by projection
could be
at least a starting point
for some deeper
exploration
for this is the way
of inquiry
the high road
the road not taken
instead we were
as helpless as the cats
who are
neurologically
incapable of
not following
the purple feather
we dangle over their heads.
A professional editor for over thirty years, Ed works in a variety of genres. His projects have received publishing and professional awards.