Tonight I have insomnia. Instead of being in my bed, sleeping and resting in preparation for the beginning of the work week, I am in my living room. I’m sitting in my easy chair and writing cinquain, thinking about a flicker of doubt. And I’m drinking whiskey. Writers Tears Copper Pot, to be exact.
Cinquain has always been one of my favorite forms. With a simple syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2 I have found that there is so much you can do with it. I wish the cinquain poets Yahoo group was still active. We used to have fifty or so poets regularly contributing. But, like most Yahoo Groups, it is dead now, along with my other favorite, the SciFaiKu group.
Anyway, I don’t know where “The Flicker” came from. Actually I do, but it’s just kind of sad. My wife is gorgeous. Like seriously gorgeous. Compared to her, I am the troll under the bridge; ugly and undesirable. Yet somehow she loves me. I remember the first time I told her how beautiful she was. From the first moment I saw her, I couldn’t get over how attractive she was – and not just physically. She is so beautiful because of who she is, and how she approaches life in this indifferent universe. Her outer beauty is a pale reflection of the beauty she possesses inside.
And yet, the first time I told her how beautiful she was there was a flicker, just for moment, of uncertainty in her eyes. As if she didn’t believe me, or wondered what my game was.
And that broke my heart.
This, my friends, is what “The Flicker” is about. That realization that sometime, somewhere, and somehow, an amazing and beautiful woman was made to doubt her own beauty. This is a tragedy, and we should all weep.