Valentine
via Song Ann Duffy
Not a red rose or a silk heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon enclosed by earthy colored paper.
It guarantees light
like the cautious stripping down of love.Here.
It will daze you with tears
like a sweetheart.
It will make your appearance
a wobbling photograph of grief.I am attempting to be honest.
Not a charming card or kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its wild kiss will remain all the rage,
possessive and steadfast
as we are,
however long we are.Take it.
Its platinum circles therapist to a wedding band,
assuming that you like.
Deadly.
Its aroma will stick to your fingers,
grip to your blade.
Valentine
via Hymn Ann Duffy
Not a red rose or a glossy silk heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon enveloped by earthy colored paper.
It guarantees light
like the cautious stripping down of love.Here.
It will dazzle you with tears
like a darling.
It will make your appearance
a wobbling photograph of grief.I am attempting to be honest.
Not a charming card or kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its furious kiss will remain all the rage,
possessive and reliable
as we are,
however long we are.Take it.
Its platinum circles therapist to a wedding band,
assuming you like.
Deadly.
Its fragrance will stick to your fingers,
stick to your blade.
Where I Come From by Sally Fisher | Thursday, August 31, 2017 | The Author's Chronicle with Post Keillor
We didn't say fireflies
however, lightning bugs.
We didn't say merry go round
however, carousel.
Not teeter-totter,
seesaw
not candy,
sucker.
We didn't say pasta, yet
spaghetti, macaroni, noodles:
the three sorts.
We didn't blow up:
we blew up.
Also, we never felt discouraged
alarmed, frustrated
demoralized, deterred
frustrated or anything,
indeed, even miserable:
just sad.Media (http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/writersalmanac/~4/0Jc636Fclak)
Where I Come From by Sally Fisher | Thursday, August 31, 2017 | The Essayist's Chronicle with Post Keillor
We didn't say fireflies
yet, lightning bugs.
We didn't say merry go round
in any case, carousel.
Not teeter-totter,
seesaw
not candy,
sucker.
We didn't say pasta, however
spaghetti, macaroni, noodles:
the three sorts.
We didn't lash out:
we flew off the handle.
What's more, we never felt discouraged
frightened, frustrated
unsettled, deterred
disappointed or anything,
indeed, even troubled:
just sad.Media (http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/writersalmanac/~4/0Jc636Fclak)
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