by Mary J Anna
More than mitigated, the smell of her stinky sock cheese subsides as
the poupon nips at my tongue
I made a dorky sandwich, you said,
when I pulled out the pickle relish.
then I peel off the crust
and make the world turn awry.
I eat each torn piece with an appropriate bite
and find-- this balance.
My hair is so less disheveled than you say, Deb,
and we dont have to fight about it.
We could fight about the little things instead,
little things like words
words that wouldnt exist without us
that die when we dont remind each other
The words, Deb that sat in the room while everyone stared
The words that boil in the mush pot
the words that simmer in the middle of circles
(with women reaching childs posed and prostrated, their fingers spirited forward)
The words bleed a calculating science that we can never see and
breath a drum beat that remains somehow undefined
Im glad we dont talk about the little things,
Im glad to feel my tongue being bitten by mustard seeds and bees.
Posted on 06/21/2006
Copyright © 2023 Mary J Anna
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Nicole D Gregory on 06/21/06 at 10:53 AM|
Welcome to Pathetic! I love this piece... a moment of life capturing different thoughts and feelings going on in a relationship. Really well done! I hope to read more! ~N
|Posted by Christina Butcher on 06/21/06 at 03:49 PM|
i really like the last few lines, very cool stuff. nice poem.
|Posted by Michael Faraday on 06/24/06 at 05:21 AM|
lots of potential in this piece. enjoyed it! cheers, m
|Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 06/30/06 at 08:10 AM|
A fine conversational tone, and I love the details...("the little things")! I can really taste the mustard and relish in the poem...and somehow the bees seem right too. The taste of good words. (The San Francisco title -- city of good sandwiches...I've been there...reminds me that in my "Weaving" poem "the streets can be empty anytime" happens in SF early morning while the city's still asleep. Fun to share your poetry.