Empty here,
I’m scraping
the jelly jar,
but the knife
comes up clean.
I want that sugar
like a dedicated
honeybee that can’t
find a flower.
Honey, I need
some nectar.
I need a journey.
Road trip with me
so we can trip
on the road
and come out
less than clean.
I’m empty here,
and searching –
for the plum
juice in my dead
Grandmother’s ice
chest, for the scent
of white pines
and the sight
of their fallen
gold needles,
for the warmth
of a cup of tea
on a chill day
as my only
Memories: the air
in my jelly jar.
It’s empty, yet not.

Leave a Reply

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

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s