NaBloPoMo 5...and some more thanks!

Just so you know, I did post yesterday. I posted an itty, bitty, late for church haiku on my NaBloPoMo page. So, I'm still on target for 30 days/30posts!

However, I did not post my thanks and gratitude for the day. Bad. Very bad. I will make up for it. Thankful for, once again, my daughter. She loves life, that one. After attending, as an adjunct, the birthday party her brother was invited to, she said, "That birthday party fun!"

Today's thanks...

• beautiful fall day
• delicious home cooked dinner (by me!)
• the soft woolen arms of twilight folding us in our home one hour early
• I am not kidding, that thought came into my head tonight, right at sunset as my kids and husband were playing outside. Such domestic bliss is a rarity in my house!

Tonight, for your reading pleasure, a blast from my poetic past. A relic unearthed from my Van Gogh Sunflower journal. This is going back 5 years. Can you imagine? A poem left hand-written, alone in a journal for five years? Were it an animal or a child, I would surely be arrested. Luckily, it's just a poem, and my poems are forgiving (and without expiration dates!).

Comments/critique welcome!

Marriage as Milk, or: Is the Cereal Bowl Half Empty?

We have run out of milk,
that lifeblood of babies
and breakfast cereal.
As I sit eating my Cheerios,
reading a book of poems, I taste
something terribly wrong,
something too dry, too dull.
Oh, the little Os are sticking to my lips.
My mouth sticks to the spoon.
There is no slide,
no ease of insertion.
Like a half kiss missing its mark
by one more dry innuendo,
these lips are only slightly damp,
only vaguely pleasing.
I dig the spoon deeper
surely, there must be milk pooled
at the bottom
of the bowl.
It couldn’t just disappear?
Could it?
Evaporate in a blur of days left unopened?
Maybe my flowered bowl
has become a wok,
the cereal pushed up on the sides,
spectators of their own consumption.
Even as I stir them, hoping to squeeze
milk out, force them down
into the center
I know my Cheerios are not sponges.
My heart is dry.
We are out of milk.