Pickle Jar

You won't normally find me writing poetry; I lack the discipline to be concise. If I write, I write liberally and spare no ink.

 

Warty and green,

I bite the witch’s nose,

Pickle juice soaks my chin.

The jar, once full of sorceress brew

Is ready for the hunt.

Clutching it close,

Cool glass on warm hands,

The label glides off between my fingers,

Slimy with paste like paper mâche.

 

Off into the watermelon sunset

And the sweet, seedless air,

Catching lightning bugs in sticky hands,

Tiny feelers tickling palms,

One by one, they are nabbed,

Held captive in a transparent cell,

The squirming lamp glows bright.

 

A vein of lightning streaks the sky,

Startled hands surrender the jar.

Shards of glass speckle the lawn,

A flutter of gossamer wings erupt

As they make their constellations.

Reviews

[Christopher Marlowe]

On looking at this again--I like this poem very much, however, as I normally do, I hear it spoken as I'm reading. When I got to sorceress's brew, my mouth stumbled a bit. I think you could get away with "sorceress brew" and it would be perfectly acceptable. The opening is terrific. The only other point where a question comes up is with "Clenching it close" Clenching to me, means
holding something tightly. I wasn't quite sure if you intended that meaning in this poem.

[Julia]

LOVE this! (Sorry if it's not too constructive, I just like it.)

[Christopher Marlowe]

Kristen,

In spite of your protestation about poetry, you're quite accomplished...so you can really do it! Great rhythm, provocative images, and no unnecessary words. Brava!
CM