Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Paper Cup [some poetry]

[It's been a long time since I posted some poetry on the blog. Please note that I am the only freak you'll encounter who's capable of 'recycling' a Tim Hortons cup into a metaphor for feelings not always articulable.]


Dawn, dry leaves wreathe in hunger
At the night falling, and the smell,
The uncertain smell of departure.

A crepuscular kitchen, a wooden floor
Steps and creaks, heels and clacks:
Sounds, uncertain, groping for

The feel, the feel of something familiar:
A switch, golden lights, an evening routine,
Lethargic, like the cycle of a caterpillar.

Close the windows, shut out desires
Step out, empty the trash, get the mail
Bills, flyers, more bills, more flyers.

And there, covered in Spring dust
Lying amidst tin-cans, cartons in a blue box
Lies the empty Tim Hortons cup.

A paper cup, moulded to the shape of your lips 
Torn at the rim by the nervousness of you teeth
A paper cup summoning you, your presence, your heavy hips.

A paper cup wetting my ears, dripping saliva from your lips
Biting my nipples like black coffee on your nervous teeth,
A paper cup inside me, crushing my legs with your heavy hips.

An empty cup, void like my soul, bound to be recycled
And your presence, summoned, called for, imagined...
A presence, I tried to, but couldn't recycle.