Posts Tagged ‘milk’

This morning when she pours the milk

into the child’s cup, she doesn’t stop.

She pours until the cup is full, until

it spills across the counter, ’til it spills

onto the floor. She pours and pours

until the kitchen is flooded in milk,

it is up to her knees, it is up to her waist,

it is dammed against the kitchen door,

which she opens, then she floats the creamy tide

into morning, riding atop the pearly tide.

With one hand, she waves at her neighbors,

with the other she continues to pour the milk.

She is surfing now through the streets of town,

past the bank, past the school, past the crowd

who has gathered to stare. “Oh,” they say,

with a shake of their heads, “she has really lost it

this time, bless her heart,” and they step

on the curb to keep their feet from getting wet,

and she smiles and blows them a one-handed kiss,

and with her other hand she pours and pours.

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