The Ancient Modern

Timing  /  Joshua Alan Sturgill         

I always come back
to that time, to
because my brain
is like my father
kneading the dough
to make potato candy
my brain collects
what happened
what I wish
and nothing
merely mundane
in its bowl, and kneads them
and Behold!
(or we or they)
which, til now, 
I thought I’d forgotten
emerges fresh
from want and memory
sweet and cut carefully
and arranged 
with a completion
the past always waits for.
You know so much
is left out of the story
but this is the way
we will tell it now
baked until tender
           rough skins discarded
           only the warm flesh
           and powdered sugar
           mixed thoroughly
           (a fork is best)
           kneaded until smooth and firm
           rolled flat
           spread with peanut butter
           rolled up, cut in pieces
that one time,
a History

All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2022 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

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