Weaving a traditional Navajo rug (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Today’s subject for the Poetic Bloomings 7-22-12 Prompt is a difficult one to approach. We’re asked to write a poem that delves into some kind of betrayal. How does one approach this tenderest of subjects?
Why do I say tenderest? I think of betrayal as a layered emotion, depending on the act of betrayal, the history between the betrayer and the betrayed, and the expectations involved. Tiny betrayals occur each day. Humans betray themselves as much or more than others betray them.
My response deals with more than one kind of betrayal. That of another toward me, one I performed on myself, and one regarding intentions. There are more, but of lesser degree. As I look at this poem finished, I realize that each stanza deals with a type of betrayal all of its own.
I hope you enjoy it.
The Rug
You came to me, you said
“A chance for change.”
With you came your friend
To be welcomed as you.
You took my home as your own,
Given freely, a loan of honor.
Long work days for me
While you and yours played.
Talk of old times, some not so good
Filled darkness hours at day’s end,
Only to begin again without respite;
Months lingered without change.
You’d said change, though none
Revealed itself to me then,
Except that I would no longer
Play parent and provider.
My request for your absence
Was honored as stated; with you
Went a prize of mine, procured
For a someday display.
Navajo use their weavings each day;
Mine would have hung, never trod upon,
Had it had that chance to grace my home,
Instead of stolen as another’s prize rug.
You came as old friend, you left as thief,
Taking with you more than native weaving;
Grinding betrayal of friendship’s honor
Beneath disregard’s brutal heel.
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claudsy
Meena Rose
did this actually happen? wow
Oh, yeah. It happened. I’ve never heard from that person since, and that was back in ’87.
So sad, and yes … betrayal.
meg
I was hurt for a long while. Then I understood. I’ve always said that if someone stole from me–and it has happened on occasion–the person needed whatever it was much more than I did, obviously, or they wouldn’t have taken it.
With that rug, it was less philosophical in nature, my reaction. He knew how much I prized it. I’d wanted one most of my life for the craftsmanship and the privilege. He took that, sullied it in ways that he would never know/understand. However, I finally understood something far more important.
And that was I didn’t need the rug to have experienced the privilege of knowing its craftsmanship. Nor did I need the rug to give me status, for status wasn’t what I was looking for. Nor did I need it to help identify who I was, because I already knew that. In that sense, he did require it far more than I and therefore, having few resources other than fingers, he procured it for himself.
I wasn’t diminished by his act, but he was, for he betrayed himself far more than he did me.
Wow, Claudsy… Indeed a betrayal to which I find myself speechless!
Ha! Trust me. That day I had plenty to say. Since then, I can’t even tell you what the pattern was on the rug. I recognized that I wasn’t intended to have one and let it go. His actions told me all I needed to know and I let that all go as well. It just took a bit of time and self-discovery to manage it.
You have a very kind and wise heart. My privilege is in calling you friend, Claudsy.
Thank you for those kind and generous words, Marilyn. That means the world to me.
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