"This Poem a Path You Were Walking All Along" by Molly Tenenbaum

This Poem a Path You Were Walking All Along

This poem in an earthquake zone
can’t be insured, so must avoid
subject matter but needs
a plum and a horse. This poem
once slaughtered in workshop —
the horse, though its lips
whiskered oats from your hand,
not believable enough.
This poem didn’t look a thing up
and lacks basic wisdom of morning, night.
Of day, the blank between.
Knows basic nutrition — No more sugar —
but wells in the mouth,
line by buttercream line.
And though its soundtrack slashes cane,
it wants its three o’clock snack.
You’ll never know the whole story,
what died for the fill
of the basket. Hard, sour, plush, split.
You arrive home with the evening before you,
white bloom tacky on its damson breast.
Remember how this morning,
muesli swelled in its bowl.
How, crossing the doorsill to leave,
the air, the cold openness of it,
struck you in half.

Molly Tenenbaum

Molly Tenenbaum is the author of four books of poems, most recently Mytheria (Two Sylvias Press, 2017) and The Cupboard Artist (Floating Bridge, 2012). Her chapbook/artist book, Exercises to Free the Tongue (2014), a collaboration with artist Ellen Ziegler, combines poems with archival materials about ventriloquism. Her poems have appeared in The Beloit Poetry Journal, Best American Poetry, New England Review, Poetry, Poetry Northwest, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Her recordings of old-time Appalachian banjo are Instead of a Pony and Goose & Gander. She lives in Seattle, teaching at North Seattle College and Dusty Strings Music School.

Headshot: Ellen Ziegler

Photo Credit: Staff