Friday, December 12, 2008

My Boy Smuckers

What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music. 
-- Soren Kierkegaard

Here is today's food poem - neither menacing nor disturbing.  I wonder if they named their kid Smuckers?


Sunday morning anticipatter

Holly up 
and paints 
some names 
on our almost-baby 
dip dipping a fingertip 
in the jar of strawberry 
preserves on the tray 
next to our bed.

Her belly mountain of us 
accommodates several 
and several are expunged – 
thinking while licking
I trace the rubrics 
with my tongue and 
kiss away her ripe ideas.

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