Styrofoam Cup with a Hole in Its Side

so, just to mollify

for a moment

just to pour myself

from one broken

container

into this poem

without wetting

the page too much

to delight in how lonely

I am

to brush my hands

over the surface

of a dead pile of leaves

like a cold distended

stomach

to convert the words

of my gut

into a potted plant

sustained by the sun

framed in a small bedroom window

that a grandmother could

see

walking down a

cold street in Manhattan

if she wanted to

if only

for a moment

if she needed to look up

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s