Day 7:  Sweet

Give me sweet dreams,

sweet books,

sweet treats,

sweet looks,

sweet hearts,

sweet times,

Sweet Tarts,

sweet rhymes…

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.