Sunday, August 29, 2010


I do not like the way a metaphor smells
when it has sat around on the counter
so long that the meaning begins to puddle
in the bottom of the bag, and the form of it
begins to grow fuzzy with green
or orange mildew.

But before that, when it has been around
just long enough to go a bit sour
and has the tang of grapes turning
to wine on the stems; when the skin
loosens and the juicy fruitness trickles easily
down your throat, with only a little
mushy bite —

those are the metaphors that speak
of warm days in summer,
and watermelon on the table
and the phone sitting silent for hours or weeks
when you wish it wouldn't.

Those are the metaphors that give you
an uncomfortable feeling
in your stomach, but only just enough
that you notice
and remember it afterwards.

Jun 3, 2010

No comments:

Post a Comment