White Jasmines

On some days, her vessel feels akin to

A tub of ice cream that’s been hollowed 

Out of cheeriness, a void borne of acerbic

Text exchanges, unyielding lovers, 

Debilitating familial obligations,

Signed legal dramas and

Cremated dreams. 

On others, it’s scraped clean by

Favourite t-shirts unravelling,

Overshot highway exits, spilled coffee,

Returned packages, and wilted succulents.

The dairy farm’s afar, the cow won’t milk,

The churner’s broken and the sugar’s run out.

Yet, on the rare occasion that she strolls under 

A canopy of white jasmines or brushes past 

An orange cat, a dribble of Sicilian 

Pistachio condenses to the bottom.

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