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Deep Pockets

a poem

By Michele NampalliPublished 2 months ago 1 min read

Maple butter syrup

splits

on buttermilk pancakes

Sunday’s pinch of magic formed

tradition

it happened as it did

each time

I’d tie my thick brown hair back

hands ready with fork and knife

hovering...

that first cut - oozing, sticky core

and I'd devour the fluff

a flash of light on canines

complete.

Some nights,

a full moon

I have them for dinner

as dessert

you call it nonsense

and I make them, grumpy

you oblige,

eat them still

I chuckled inward

in the deepest layer right in the middle of that stack

are air bubbles

I've held on to that cushion

of air

never a bad memory.

Gratitude

About the Creator

Michele Nampalli

This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.

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Comments (1)

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  • Sam Spinelli2 months ago

    This feels so comforting and nostalgic. Rich appeal to the senses, good job!

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