Poems from the House of Memory

This is the second “installment” of poems from our poetry jam on Twitter last Tuesday. I decided to post this one by itself; it is definitely a standalone.

A Walk to the Small Dairy

Once, we walked with tin cans
to the small dairy for milk.

Whisper lulls cream to
butter before it remembers,
cream sweeter than butter,
each morning’s delight.
Cream and butter,
fly with me.

The idea of using a
finger to skim cream from
fresh milk always seems
romantic. One thumb of
white stuff tells
me otherwise.

But from thumb it
falls on tongue
softly.
Someone else’s hard work
can taste bitter in
my mouth.

I have spoken too much,
taken too little time to churn;
find the sweet cream and leave
the rest behind.

Add cream to coffee and pour
me a mug. I promise to
stay awhile.
Churn me, turn
me to the light;
cast me like dice.

He wants to butter my bread and I want to eat
it warm fresh from the oven, but both of us fail to
rise, in the end.
Make of my words what you will; unchurned,
they have no meaning, sit tight in
the throat, melt like ice, cold words.

I will sit beside you;
we will churn words together,
drink coffee with sweet cream.
I drink my coffee
Black. Sit with me awhile.

Speak aloud your words
that I might know
how to place them in my life.
How to hold their meaning
in my heart? How to use them
to sing me back to you?

Seeing shore, and trees leaning inward.
You call me back. Churning?
My brain has been churning
all week long, trying to explain
where there is no explanation,
only my own fault, my own weak fault

To wander, or to turn? And sit with you.
My words, tonight, feel pushed forward,
unsure of themselves, unsteady on
their club feet. My words seem
small and futile beside yours, whey
drained off of your sweet butter.

By @KathleenOverby, @doallas, @llbarkat, @mmerubies, @mdgoodyear, @TchrEric, @PoemsPrayers, @monicasharman, @mxings, and @togetherforgood; edited by @gyoung9751.