Vinegar, Salt, or Honey

my piss is mostly vinegar

a mass I’ve tried to dilute

acid in your face

is a tough opening

mornings I scoop coffee

into the press before

I’ve coupled the filter

a curse escapes me

I rushed into unknown space

to make my bones

where no one cared

if I made the cut

Thelma was strongest

fierce, capable, independent

helplessly unhappy

she endured

loved us for what

no one had been able

to destroy, honey

salt or vinegar

I had no clue what to go for

no knowledge of joy

every moment felt

had to be paid for

ripe cherry tomatoes

washed & air dried

out of so many

I eat a spoiled one

my vinegar is fear

instinct instilled at home

the open empty smile

offsets my weaponry

every morning first

a big mug of

English tea

sweetened with honey

as if I know

the blade is so sharp

you must be convinced

I won’t use it

Thoreau & Thelma

went outside every day

to find the unapproachable

nameless & wild

fellowship is familial

with plenty of space

collegial, intimate, separate

sometimes face to face

I stay lean

to maintain my edge

as if shrinking to a scrap

were hedge

vinegar, salt, or honey

we’re on the verge

of sinking into someone

who can’t save us

winter descends

a dismal weight, Emily after

Susan pushed her away

despair, disgrace

Thoreau, aside from Walden

lived with family

whoever was left

that saving grace