my head aches
the artist
& the artisan clash
here, where 1
plans ground cherry jam
the color of honey
to spread this winter over hot bread
baked on a stone
those days oven-heated time
softens like a Dali clock
while the other,
the other hums in a corner
stitches words into ink patchworks.
you can call it poetry. she calls it
sewing oats or sowing
a seamed wholeness
& maybe she will
paint honey on your skin for tasting
but now, not after snow
because love poetry is im-
pa-
tient
& refuses to set
or is it gel–
difficult to know
whether we jar words
or write jams
it’s all in the boil
take the poet
out of the poetry
& the lover out of the poem
what’s left?
last night
i told you about wasabi
& how i like heat
when i am expecting it,
not that first time i saw it
curled against sushi & thought
it was avocado
some mistakes burn
before they teach us
to not trust our eyes
to go deeper
anything’s possible
so look past the obvious
***at Dverse we are toying with the surreal, and with high and low art. Here is my little attempt.
This is what ground cherries look like–not a cherry from a tree!
Susan Daniels Poetry 