The Jars (a brief poem for today)

The Jars

There's a language in the jar that we've already used

washed, and reused again, and we knew our mouths

would make something stick, my every piece of clothing

hanging there on your last word, we knew at the ready

what we were going to have again and again, saving

the jars in exchange for lip service.   There's so much

I want to say, sunlight filled to the top of the day,

and a thirst for success in some fashion.  We throw

very little away except certain cares that won't get

us too far, certain ways of saying it, unbreakable me.


s.m.g.