you ask a poet what to do when you heart is breaking
and get upset when she comes carrying jars.
You ask her how to tell if something is worth it
and she gets quiet and hands you a jar
says fill it.
I don’t know with what, just do it.
You and her and jars of honey, jam, chilies and olive oil, pickled peppers and you ask
Why can’t you answer me straight?
Do you never write anything real?
Your words tell me you climb mountains to be ok, I need to know where my mountain is and she says
eat this jar.
Don’t you get it
I don’t know.
I only know that there will always be things to
sometimes it’s your heart,
sometimes it’s how much value you pour into the word
It tastes like honey and it lasts for centuries,
it tastes like chilies and it hurts.
You ask a poet,
like she’s made of maps,
What do I do with my heart now?
And she hands you a jar,
says add thyme.
It’ll be ok.