February 8th, 2010

alone

poem (by me): to the brim

I am a pitcher over-filled with water,
a teacup with no saucer,
and all I do--all I can--
is sit very still and wait and
hope (with such quiet desperation)
that the one who poured my contents in will tell me
why;
or at the least
will pour them out again to where they'd better be.