Point Your Finger
Written by Eldrex Delos Reyes Bula
You point your finger straight at me,
A kitchen timer, a cup of tea.
You hold the label, crisp and new,
But do you know the recipe?
You say "a storm," you hear the thunder,
But miss the quiet earth pulled under.
It folded notes I never dared to hand you,
But can you wear the falling through?
It’s like a door you’ve only knocked,
A pocket watch you’ve never locked.
You’ve memorized the outside face,
But never sat in that empty space.
So point your finger, draw your line.
The pointing is a truthful sign:
You map a country, shore to shore,
But I’m the floor behind the door.