859 Readings | 2 Ratings

Leisure, Hannah, Does Not Agree with You

–After Catullus


Leisure, Hannah, does not agree with you.
Mouth stuffed with garlic cloves
testicular in shape and pungency, you asked yourself permission
for a chicken’s breast, a loaf of bread slicked with butter,
a cake with cherry glazes that would delight
any little girl with gaps in her teeth clapping “Cake!
Oh, cake! It is so worth a soiled dress!”
It’s as if, Hannah, leisure entered through your pores
and made you poor in spirit: “I have no work to push me,
I have no love to hold me, I have no hope to lift me. Only cleaning—”
which is not truly leisure, Hannah!
But you can fold these shirts like they do in the boutiques, sweetness.
Take a little pride in the smallish things—how shiny, your blue teakettle!
Tree branches slam against the windows, but your house
is a fortress; and you are too, Hannah.
Posted 08/29/12
Thanks to Loaded Bicycle for Publishing this poem! http://www.loadedbicycle.com/ http://epiphanyzine.com/ http://www.martinrockpoetry.com/
Books by Hannah Gamble
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