A Feast

I devoured a poem today.

Some, I have sipped
and let words swirl around my mind.
Today, I inhaled
as one would the scent of wood smoke
on the morning breeze,
or bacon
or even that sweet, sassy smell of cotton candy.
That explosion of a first bite
of summer-fresh watermelon.

I wasn't dainty,
I didn't nibble a synonym here,
a metaphor there - no,
I, as if starving,
manners flung to the wayside,
dove in,
chewed with my mouth open
and swallowed whole .

Words flavored
with exotic spices
melded with phrases born
from a secret heart.
Left no crumb unread, no crusted word uneaten
I licked the page clean.


This.
This is what a poem should do.
Even as it is consumed,
it should consume the reader.
Then, I went back for seconds--
needing, wanting the more of it.
I needed to savor the layered nuances,
let phrasings slide along my tongue,
hear the words take flight
and watch them dance across the ceiling.
And yet, once again,
the refrain of it touching some misplaced
corner in my mind
I hadn't known I'd lost and bringing it,
dusty, cob-webbed
out into the light;
the poem polishing it bright again.

The poet, an evolving creature,
has phoenix wings and a child's soul.
With words that caress, and others
carrying the force of a breached dam,
she sees her words physically,
plays with them and sets them free
to entangle in our emotions,
pull at heartstrings or snap
one's attention front and center.


Reading the words made my heart smile,
ran rampant,
resurfacing throughout my day --
catching me off-guard
and surprising me once again.