box of jars

david brennan
Self Reproof
My hand—are you going to hold it again?
Looks like I'm dumber than you think. 

Wanting you to cling to me
like I am an economic power 

and you the poorest of nations 
seeking forgiveness of your debts. 

You left a platter of fish under the chin of a cat
the first time you took

my hungry digits in your calloused palm.
What an attractive man, I thought.

I have hardly any memory of the man 
who thought that. When I try to find him

all I see are yellow flowers shaking, as if we
were playing hide and seek in a barley field.