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
