Vivian pours the sugar
from the cup into the mason jar.
I add the boiling water.
“It is magic,” I tell her,
“We’ll make the sugar
disappear.” She does not
believe me, and of course,
she’s right. It does not disappear,
but she is fooled as I hoped she would be
and squeals in delight as we swirl
the jar until the last white spiral
dissolves into the clear.
“Where did it go?” she asks,
in disbelief. “It’s here,”
I say, and we dip our fingers
into the water and lick the sweetness
as proof. It is only later
I remember the salt doll story,
how it stepped into the ocean
and lost itself. Or found itself.
Your call. We add cold water
to the simple syrup, four parts
to one. Then chill.
The recipe is simple.
The story simple, too.
I look at my hands. So solid.
So full of grasping. So
familiar with want and need.
And part of that longing
is to dissolve myself. And part is
to find stronger glue.
The feeder is empty now.
Best not to completely dissolve, I reason,
at least not for today, not while
there are still birds to feed
and a young girl to hold
in these so solid arms
as we watch through the window
the approaching blur of gray wings.
A good narrative piece, with the sugar and salt merging so well, though here’s the point of (re)solution where the mix speaks to me:
“Best not to completely dissolve, I reason,
at least not for today, not while
there are still birds to feed
and a young girl to hold…
It comes after the back and forth, timed well, enough details to tell the story and provide those moments for poetic reaching.
My only suggestion would be to remove “try to” from the title. And don’t drink the water!
Thanks dear David, nice pun on the resolution … As usual.
Vivian totally wanted to drink the water!
R
And part of that longing/is to dissolve myself. And part is/to find stronger glue.
This, but just one of our dilemmas as humans. As with the salt doll: do we lose, or find, ourselves?
Such a dance, this poem: Narrative and “prosey,” yet also metaphoric and “about” so much more than what the words say.
I applaud and bow unto thee.
Aw, shucks, thank ye kindly, Ed.