Day 7: Sweet
Give me sweet dreams,
And lest my soul get a toothache
You can break my heart for bitterness.
Day 8: Graceful Hands
I can delicately drink my tea,
Wrists suspended on gossamer strings.
And with these delicate wrists
I can thread a night crawler on a hook, and
Wrestle a bass from the water.
Cut it, gut it, and cook it.
Gracefully place it on a table before you
Where all the silverware is exact,
The stemware has no smudges,
And there is a separate plate for bones.
When I write about heartbreak, I get a little self-conscious. I don’t think a person has ever broken my heart. I’ve broken my own a couple of times, but it’s standard to imply that someone else has done it.
In the initial draft of “Sweets” I did not add the bitterness at the end – I was feeling lighthearted and playful and was enjoying some music. Upon completion of the poem, however, it occurred to me that such a whimsical idea might garner resentment. And so, I added the harsh last lines so that you, my audience, would not hold my lightheartedness against me.
In my journal, it’s just a sweet poem.