She watched the
laundry;
Sloshing, spinning.
Maybe it was the spin cycle
-
An electromagnetic field,
Pulling the socks through
a vortex.
She had never really minded
Being invisible;
She even preferred to sit
In the back of the classroom,
Quietly hiding behind someone
tall.
She put the clothing into
the dryer.
Tumbling, twirling.
Another electric field,
Like the purring engine of
the bus,
Or the magnetic core of the
microphone.
Once in awhile it hurt.
She'd speak out,
Her voice falling on deaf ears;
She'd timidly step forward,
But somehow remain unseen.
She pulled the socks from
the dryer,
Knowing what she'd find.
The argyle was missing;
It must have gone through
a black hole
Into a parallel universe. |
She tried to resign
herself
To being overlooked.
She expected to wait for her
turn
After everyone behind her.
Invisibility did teach her patience.
She toyed with an orphan argyle,
Pondering the destiny of
its mate;
And wondered if she could
twist
A sock into a Möbius
strip
Or mold it into a Klein bottle.
She wondered if she would ever
Leave the shadows
And be acknowledged
By the world around her.
The foolish thought brought
a smile.
She looked again for the argyle,
Knowing it was gone.
She had been there countless
times,
Transported to that invisible
dimension;
Present, but unseen.
Betty Jean Swartz
1995, revised 2/17/97. |