for D.B.A.
every bit of D'Anthra
is for me so blessed
every bit of her like that bit
or like that amount
of jam left in the jar
after knife, spoon have reached
what they can reach
have raked up- raked out what they can
and there is still
what is clinging
to the bottom, to the sides
and how you yearn for it, all of it, every bit
whether or not you can access what's left
you think to turn a bottle inside out
impossible as this is
if you could, you could lick up, lap up
all that you could not get at
how to get at her at all, is a similar worry
a similar concern
how to get my arms about her
her arms- her legs about me
were I able to, I could get the jam out
the jam in
I could peel the label off
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
10:40 a.m. 02.09.10
2 Comments:
absolutely amazing obi. this poem reads on so many different levels. i have some maturing to do because as 'grown up' as i may look on the outside i am still a bud and i am still your friend.
Oh how you'd allow me to or permit me to scour you like a pot and still you'd cook for me or let me cook - still you'd work for me and work with me. I do not need too too much, just a little bit regularly, is all I insist upon. With less I am hardly able to abide - hardly able to live. I just cannot abide having to hunger and to thirst after dba like one is advised to do after righteousness. What deep humility and character you demonstrate every time I have had to blow my top. You are as much responsible for our survival and existence as I am. Thank you for this devotion to our partnership. Thank you for this delightful response to "Jam Jar".
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