What Goes into Jars is Better Set on Fire

Hey, y’all.

I wrote this poem three times until I got it just right.  The life of a poet is exhausting.

Just kidding, you know I love, thrive, and survive on this kind of labor.

Anyways, I don’t really remember what started this poem, but this is where it ended up.  Because apparently it’s hard for me to write a poem without mentioning fire somewhere.  Sigh.

Please enjoy the following poem:


What Goes into Jars is Better Set on Fire


My plans are the ocean-vast hue

of an unobtainable future shoved

into a jar against its will.  A jar

can’t hold the ocean but I screwed

the lid on tight, even though I could

smell the glass breaking with a hint of

gasoline perfume.


I shoved the ocean in a jar of

preset values, ideas of what my future should

lead me to.  On a leash, I follow, attached

to the jar as it rolls across the

pavement, bumping rocks and toes

as the ocean fights back.

(Why did I start the jar rolling?)


When I put the ocean, my future-vast

blue-gasoline smile into the class cage,

I stood on two continents, one foot

buried in the sand on each.  I dipped the

glass into the waves, wild waves I

sought to control to save the future from a

storm that wouldn’t happen.  Gasoline

waves poured into the jar, my hands in

a trap I set for myself, a bind of premade notions

that led to taming the fluidity of potential.


(To nail something down as certain is to kill it.

What Goes into Jars is Better Set on Fire)


The tide swept, wept, into the jar with a disastrous swallow.



I hope you liked it!  Let me know what you thought with either a like or a comment!  🙂

~Until Thursday!~

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