Empty your icebox into the fire
And lean across the kitchen counter
Take the cherries from the bowl
And quietly, fade into the wallpaper.
Past the clutter in the living room
Skating the floor boards to the front door
And without regretting the starving children
In Ethiopia, who have never heard of You
Throw those stones across your garden.
Stand hunched in your refrigerator
Whip your cream into butter
And spread yourself, this morning
A fat line of grease, far across your business card
Replace to the wallet in your palm.
All the memories of long lost oysters
Shells in the sink, because the neighbour's kid
Has never been to the ocean
Doesn’t mean you should share them.
I’ll put my lips to the window
And breathe out over the glass
And with my tongue rewrite this poem.