Sticky Truth

I empty the can and lick:
its rim, my fingers, and the sticky plate.
Filled, now, with sap of maple,
I wave hello with both my branches
to the cold and lovely morning.

I declare contentment!
I adopt it, embody it,
practice its art. Contentment.
My garment. My stance.
My major. My mantra.

Contentment sings through
the flute of me. Music!
I keep on creating the notes
like a breeze playing leaves of maple.
On this morning of satisfaction,

I am soft and laughing,
little and tough.
I won’t give up
the taste of syrup
on my tongue.

©Susa Silvermarie 2018

with thanks to Simone for the Montreal Elixir



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