Army Of You Poem by Suzanne Louise Bishop

When you are gone, which is most of the time,
I buy a pack of jelly babies and give each one your name,
Each and all the same, an army of you.
Their soft insides yield to my hot touch, melt like you used to,
Sometimes I rip their heads off, skewer them on a pencil,
Imagine I was a voodoo lady and that you felt my pain.
Mostly though I hoard them in jars, rebuke those with
A sweet tooth. The child in me seeing pastel coloured gems,
Their smiles are mine. There they grow grey, old and hard,
Break my teeth and repay my love with grief.
So when I croak and cry, and try to soften their rock bodies
With my salt tears, they become the realisation
Of all my fears.