By Molly Lynde
Weepfulness and obstining
make me cornersome
and emmire me in drudge,
where I sorrowly invent earthquakes
and sing in a wordment
no one else understands.
Things I would not like to forget
The raspiness of raspberries
surrounded by cool creamy milk
the oval edge of my spoon dipping in just so
the rich whiteness lapping eagerly around these
and how this gratuitously beautiful thought suddenly appeared
during the faculty meeting,
and hovered over me for the rest of the day,
a contemplation: the perfection of raspberries. Ah!
Or perhaps is it a perfection of raspberries
the way one might also say
a gaggle of geese
a bushel of potatoes,
but with less pleasure.