My friend Bruce Balan did not understand the metaphor of yesterday’s compost poem. I’m sure he’s not the only one! I started to write the following response to him:
I think this is the poet’s challenge. The real reason we spend so much time on each word, each swollen period. To hand what’s so clear (to us) across the table to the reader, who does not wear the same pair of glasses.
…but instead of sending him that email, I decided to try making THAT idea into a metaphor (which may also be too obtuse!)
The title, MY FONDEST WISH, is from a phrase a beloved elementary school teacher always says to her class in one of my favorite picture books, I REMEMBER MISS PERRY written by Pat Brission, illustrated by Stéphane Jorisch (the illustrator of my book, NEW YEAR AT THE PIER). I’m not sure it’s the right title, the right energy. But if you’ve read the book, it would be very evocative.
MY FONDEST WISH
Your glasses? Amazing—
the exact prescription as mine!
Sentences tilt the same way for us,
and each swollen period
bobs up and down in the water
like a beach ball.
Our taste buds? Incredible—
they’re indistinguishable!
So when I hand you a thick slice,
you reach across the table
and it’s bittersweet and creamy
to you, too.
Wow!
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Is the idea behind the metaphor(s) in the above rough draft clear? Can you find the simile?
What’s your metaphor?