November 2, 2023

In which the poet addresses lack

Dear hostage   dear interruption   dear unspent ink
Dear kitchen of half-baked   unrisen and refusal to set
Dear poems that once-upon-a-current
tumbled cold and clear  

Dear shy tremble
Dear bitter  best-I-can-do
yearning and plea—
Once I was and am no longer

Lost dream   last chance   hoard and rot
snippet    fragment   phrase that came to naught
knots that will not unravel—   once grease and salve
I am fumble    distractible and doubt

Buffet of too many dishes—
what my mother knew by heart
what my daughter improvised— my plate
grows cold waiting to be prayed over

Chef nor poet    I puzzle
what might nourish
spin imagination
                           and heal

Bleary inundated reader
weary plague-rankled muse

what world needs more words?

Previously published in ABQ inPrint.

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