Sour Cream Poem by Carlos Gutierrez

While eating sour cream from the refrigerator,
I stumble into the light that hangs upon the switch of Maracuya.

I'm instantly,
Dragged into the dreams of a million before and to come before and after me.

I reopen my eyes,
And the sour cream's jar lays broken upon the furious floor.

The tsunami that comes afterwards,
Is only a predictable measure of common sense.

Mother yells.

She's warned the sour cream many times now...

How... dutifully.

She comes now,
With a broom on hand now.
And we wait.

I hold my breath,
As I encounter this... creature in it's wild-like habitat.

I observe; such a convoluted skill.

I see what I've seen.
But what ignites the questions at night,
Is the wonder of his thoughts in mind.

It's anybody's but nobody's guess, but mine.
But I don't own such a prerogative.

I'm only left with the parasitic questions...

And the hope that does not understand mixed signals.

I return from the void once again.

And mother continues to yell.

The sour cream did it now.
How purposefully.

I walk around the glass shards.

I see what once was as something that was never anything now...

The leaders of some are the demons of others as well.

Repressing is such a bitter-sweet skill,
One not to be tampered with.

Because it all becomes stored in a jar.
Inside a sour cream jar...