Okay, so I ran out of time to right a new poem. Spent so much time writing yesterday's poem I lost sight of today (hard to believe, I know).
So today's poem is an oldie, but one that fits the prompt. And, it a roundabout way, addresses one of my favorite indulgences.
I pour a tablespoon of sugar on my kitchen counter
spreading it thin with the back of my spoon
Each grain becomes a moment,
a seed resting on tilled earth,
the words forming in my husband’s mouth as he says
kiss me, and I am reminded again and again
of the first, the beginning, the newness of his mouth,
his plump lips deciphering the arc
of my teeth; his tongue a new species born
in my vast ocean. I myself a creature,
made of sugar and water
capable of dissolving right out of existence,
salvation and destruction in one sweet instant.
Each granule is a lost poem, an unanswerable wish
spinning on the edge of consciousness.
I say to the pots and pans: every act of nature
requires a human narrative.
I tell my story to the cereal boxes, the soup cans—
they turn their labels away in disbelief,
their stupefied lids open wide like paper sacks.
For every truth I hold to be self-evident,
I touch the flat of my tongue
to the counter’s surface.