Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Garden Variety.

If there was a special place to dig
up happiness in hard form
with a spade without a doubt
I would not go looking for it
because I would go and dig it
and then I would have it—
heaped on the kitchen table
or hid in a bin with the potatoes
or wrapped about our baby’s chest

everyone finally quiet at night
full on it, no room for more
while it lays glowing in the dark
and the neighbors envy us or it
starts to wrinkle and rot incessantly 
and we dream, grinding teeth
and worry we can’t
use it all.

No comments:

Post a Comment