Friday, March 27, 2009

Morning Inspiration

Here's a new poem I've been tinkering with this winter:

The History of Sorry

Morning Cheerios--
as good a time and place
as any for sorry.
Milk and the clink
of bowl and spoon
make everything
Saturday cartoon-
colored and solid
in a dog-walking, do-the-dishes,
plant-watering way.
No words can careen
out of control
in the gold of a sunbeam
or veer like the car
last night in the rain,
our angry faces reflected
pale in the windshield,
voices rising
as the Wah Sang take-out sign
on Chelmsford Street
flashed past, one long, gluttonous rush--
like a joke
or falling in love.

Back in the days and weeks
and years when we were new,
when lies were still
small and white
and few,
what shape did sorry take?
Maybe croissants in bed
and scrambled eggs.
I remember our necks
and legs and arms
forgave, and the room
slid sideways
in a mattress, six-pack,
skip-classes sort of way.

Cold cereal is for old 
love, the press of old
lies, sluggish blood.
No sugar now--
careful portions 
in profile
at the counter.
And yet, when the bowls
are empty,
I watch you clear
the counter and wipe
the granite clean,
taking care
with the juice cups
we bought at a junk shop
just two,
almost matching,
just enough.


  1. I really like this poem. I'm not sure about using the brand name rather than a more generic reference to cold cereal, and I think you could tighten the middle a bit, but the ending is perfect, and I love the specificity of the Chinese restaurant/street sign (I know that may seem contradictory, but it's a different kind of specificity).

  2. This is wonderful Gigi. I love the rhythm of your poems. Thanks for sharing!


Thank you so much for visiting and for taking the time to leave a comment! I love hearing from you.