A reminder, now, in this the beginning of night,
your time of power,
that should another old woman call you useless,
as you scan the merchandise,
or some twelve-year-old with cracking voice
shout unkindnessnesses
as you pass on your bike
it will mean nothing —
for still, in nights like these,
you may sit, as you do now,
gently licking brownie batter off of a spoon
as jasmine blooms outside
and the day waits to hatch
from the warm and thoughtful
night. Will an unkind word
steal the scent of jasmine? Will it
dull the taste of chocolate? Will it
kill you? No?
Then go on, my love:
go on. There are yet fruits
untasted.
I love this.
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