Sheep To Sheer
for Tia

outpouring myself
into vessel
unable to contain me

like cold water cup
for hot tea

bottom falling out
with her imagining
I intend her harm

when material
of which she’s made
not intended
for hot substances

in the nick of time
a woman came along

to save me
from being wasted
to save her
having to be
having to feel
over extended

must hold our cups
for lemonade, Kool-Aid
or our glass for wine

I seek chalice to sip from
into which a priest
whispered prayers

poems whispered
in her ear, like drops
of Jamaica Healing Oil

from a bottle sitting a while
in a pot of water boiling


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
6:56 p.m. 09.02.08