I can't tell you
how much love gets spread on a sandwich
swallowed by greedy eyes
put up, stored.
Some we spare -
crumbs on the counter, the forgotten casserole
spoilt, burned, unsalvageable.
Creatures smaller, less demanding
unquestioning devour our love.
They sense it everywhere, antennas poised
and delicately reaching to the sticky jam ring.
They sense what we cannot bear -
the sweetness, the generosity
which ensnares, then hardens
(It is hard to detach from what is spared.)
We wipe the counter
dissolve the goo.
J. Anna Jacus
Anna Jacus sees human
values as an icy surface we cross, testing virtue and vice
with every step for weak places that cannot support our
If you've any comments on
this poem, J. Anna Jacus would be pleased to hear from you.