Living in the Elephant

I resigned from Facebook yesterday and find that already I've got more time, will go to bed earlier, have thought about writing and praying.  I woke up the other day with an elephant sentence running around the brain pan and have written a poem about bitter elephants in heaven, which needs to cure for a while.  Here is another elephant poem for your dining delight, written several years ago and based on the poem beginning, "There were six men of Hindoostan to learning much inclined, who went to see an elephant though all of them were blind..."

Living in the Elephant
(A post-modernist allegory)

Looking out little windows on a larger world,
we argue endlessly over what we know--
holding wars and zoning battles and filibusters.
We are separate, alone.  Lowly.
Wandering aimlessly around the house---
going from window to window
hoping the owner will show up.

We eat the food, rearrange the furniture
and figure out the appliances.
The owner of this place may be an alien
and each light socket a way to reach the stars.
He may be our father,
and that yardstick in the corner would be for our rear ends.
He may not be there at all.
Perhaps we build this home in our dreams,
inhabiting it only in our waking hours,
confused as to our truest calling.

The house seems to get larger with each passing year.
Doors appear in thin air and windows give way
to sudden vistas.  How did we get here and
where are the damned blueprints anyway?

No six of us could make sense of this place.
-------------------------------------------------------------(rhonda)