Contingency #4

Some of these little poems I like, some of them I'm okay with. This one and Numero 1 are probably my two favorite out of these. Well, maybe, number 6 as well. I know it's three posts in one day but I really want to just write these down and get to some other poems I have stirring in my brain. In fact, my next post won't be poetry related at all. It's going to be what I think Valerie does all day at her job.

Contingency #4: Whiteout

If you get snowed in, deep locked into your home,
so long the food runs out,
I suggest peeling the walls to find the mice,
or scouring the attics for nests, for beehives.
And when those are gone, even the cold bodies
of ants which taste like raw tabouli,
and you’ve dug through the crevices, the cushions,
maybe even boiled your leather jacket,
turn next to the wood.
Try the well traveled.
Saute the banisters, rich with the proteins
of years of hands and arms,
it will taste like strangers and the parts of you
will warm like comfort food.
After the walkways, after the desks and brooms,
save the dining table for last.
And scrape at its surface softly, like a butter dish,
years of meals shared sunk into its lumber.
Waiting for you like a switchboard of memories.