Crack open a full day
as sunrise cracks the dawn—
the way good peanuts, shelled right,
snap open, freeing savory seeds,
made of moments in the day
when my palms are flat to the tabletop,
muscles flexed, fingers spread,
feeling something like the joy of oak
saplings flowing through me,
when a flicker in the eyes of the child
in the picture on the wall
tells me something new
about one of my babies,
when the tart, sweet taste of the first
grape pops on my tongue
and makes me wish for the skill
to make this moment last.
But some days
the peanuts go
bad.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment