another old poem…

The Next Day

I wake in pale light. Swallows
carving the sky, and in the distance
the raucous voice of the crow. This
long day opens out before me.

Dreams flee. I have forgotten
how to hold them. A little sugar,
a little salt. Wine in an etched glass.
Green grapes and a pear’s soft curve.

In the garden, I eat an apple
and cheese. The apple gone soft,
too long in the bowl. I feed
the brownish half to squirrels.

The cheese is hard, speckled
with mold. I cut away its crumbly
skin and pick at the rest. I wanted
crisp sweetness, cheddar’s sharp bite.

I eat these. They are what I have.