How To Open a Jar of Honey
A Poem
Grasp the lid and twist. Failure
is to be expected in this first attempt.
But do not concede defeat
even as your fingers ache
and bloom red with effort,
even as they become lined
with the ridges of the tin lid un-budged
from its comfortable resting place
atop the jar. Remember,
it is not the honey’s fault,
the stickiness, after all, is innate
just as it is the nature of your love
to vanish in the blushing dawn,
to thicken the bedroom with gummy silence,
to leave you alone to face
the immensity of immovable obstacles,
of inaccessible pleasures,
of glass jars standing sealed
on cracked countertops. Observe
the jar in its unopened state
and think of Schrodinger,
think of Pandora,
think of every lid once opened
that led to catastrophe. Witness
beads of air drifting
within the thick, amber liquid, globules
of patience afloat in sweetness.
It is important to lick your lips
in order to dislodge and swallow
the residue of bitter frustration
on your tongue
before lifting the jar and tapping
the edge of the lid
against the lip of the counter,
leaving tiny dents in the tin,
little infractions in the metal
like the subtle dings and damage
left behind with your love’s
every whispering word, soft
and too close to your ear. These dents
will not dislodge the lid
anymore than your love
can dislodge the anxiety
clutched within your chest. Give up
the needling expectation of success
even as you run…
