By Molly Lynde

Lament

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

lumpy prizes

and how this gratuitously beautiful thought suddenly appeared

fully formed

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

or

a bushel of potatoes,

but with less pleasure.