Swallowing the Sun
What does the sun taste like?
they ask me, and I say, Guess.
Butter. Lemon. Clover honey.
Sticky marmalade, crunchy
bell pepper, banana pudding
with Nilla wafers, green tea
steaming in a cup with no handle.
Caramel Delites melted in
the package. A slight taste
of chlorine and clementines.
Madras curry. Hatch green chile,
pad Thai in a bowl, with scrambled-
egg sunspots and flares like noodles
tugged by chopsticks. Sherbet, icicles.
Yellow Chartreuse and LSD.
A Brach's butterscotch disk
with a crinkly wrapper of clouds.
Novocaine. Broken glass. A coin
in the mouth, to still the voice
of the dead. Sweat on a lover's temple.
A 9-volt battery on the tongue;
it numbs deliciously, and leaves
a funny metallic aftertaste.
Try this: go to the greenest place
you know, where leaves drink light
till it spills like Chardonnay down
their chins. Lie down and join them.
Close your eyes and stretch your throat
wide towards the blazing sky.
[I can't take credit for all the images in the second stanza--I sent out an email to family and friends asking their guesses for the taste of the sun.]
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