What are You?

The sole of your shoe had opened up;

It was a mouth,

A theatre prop pinched to encase your foot,

A silent story awaiting its audience to assemble.

I was mesmerised by its movement

And wished it to rain –

Malicious, I know, to desire it turned into a fish

Gasping at the bottom of a puddle. –

You squinted sideways,

As if deliberating your next move,

And your question found me unprepared:

What are you?

There was a time – and how I wish it back again –

When the answer required no deliberation.

I am. This much I know.

As for the “what”,

Try me again ten sorrows and a blue moon hence.

 

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