Totally not a milk poem, but we'll take it!
Sour Milk and Lavender Blooms
Art is as much
choosing the right words
or the right palette
as it is
accepting bullets in the chest
(sans bullet proof vest)
and speaking truth to power
Art is as much
holding your punches back
when a void is meant to be
or when it shows a lack
The negative space
is where
we spoil and decay
or where
we leave
our mark
Because what matters most
when nothing really lasts
is less about the future
bearing witness to the past
(Can I get a witness?
Or just a skylark...?)
Art is as much
me as you
Enraptured by the
beauty of the
duty covering the
loss of
chaos —
seems more
lonely now
when
only knowing future
tracks
exactly as they happened then
is Silence found again?
Art is as much a revolution
as it is a form of life
if you Believe in tonics like
sour milk with crushed lavender blooms
charming and unrefined
in passion fruit rooms
and
skies
bright and blossoming
bearing milky acid rain
beneath the weight
of
unrequested burdens
containing the pain
of
unrequited blessings
Did you?
Did you believe that spoiled resurrection?
It was a lie.
Art is as much a revolution
as it is your demise
because this will be the end of you
no one makes it out alive
With this pen
I thee extol
These words lay me down to sleep
This rest defines my soul
author bio: Mary Haan has been writing terrible poetry since she was 10 years old. After finally reaching some semblance of maturity at 30 years old, she now spends her days caring for two rambunctious kiddos, creating chaos at The Cave Collective, and listening to ridiculous mix CDs from high school. Despite the depression that accompanied the pandemic, she’s proud to say that she has still never consumed an entire glass of milk.
