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
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! 🙂