Turning Point Poem by RIC BASTASA

she was taught nothing but straight lines
and her life has always been like the way she was taught
a straight one

no curves, no angles, no secants,
nothing to decant, nothing foamy, everything is settled
like some mathematical principles
solid, stoical, hard, sturdy,
devoted to nothing but study
laughter is strange
the frown is welcome, and
like a stuffed toy did she become
in one of those cabinets
she bathes in the antiquity of her silence

until she exploded, she was shattered into
concentric pieces, tangent minuscules
her mouth foamy, her eyes all too hazy
her neck strangled, and we took turns
looking at her scattered limbs.
on this turning point of her life,
the straight line travels dissolving as air
in a distance.