Flippancy

It is as hard to see oneself as to look backwards without turning around.

Henry David Thoreau

Flippancy’s all alone.
She’s out in the courtyard,
wind in her hair,
her body carved in stone,
her lips a cut of granite bone.
We set her in the garden
where devils are freer to roam
than when confined to home.
She was too close to us.
Now she sits in view outdoors
with birds who love gardens.
(We had too many mouths
speaking the inane,
as if she were a shadow
on a pretense of pain.)
In sleep it came to us
that her effigy in stone
would stop her mockery.
Now she fountains
speech, but differently.
Pure clear flowing water
tumbles from her mouth
and she delights us,
as well as the birds.