Suppose Poem


Draft #1: Suppose

You could drink sunlight.

Collect it in a chipped coffee mug

as it streams through hickory leaves

onto the dewy front lawn

and savor it.

I wonder what it tastes like.

No doubt it would radiate warmth,

a drink you crave when

the sky is a cold, dull gray

and the earth is blindingly white.

Perhaps it would be buttery and rich

like being home for Christmas

and listening to stories being told

from mismatched dining chairs

around the worn kitchen table

while playing cards late into the night. 

Or maybe it would taste tropical,

with bright citrus and earthy coconut

reminding you to celebrate small victories

like catching up on a long list of tasks 

that you deliberately forgot 

until right before they needed to be done.

I would find a way to bottle it up 

so I could store it for desperate times

when stubborn clouds won’t part

or night refuses to turn into day.

If only we could drink sunlight.

Draft #2: Tasting Sunlight

Suppose you could drink sunlight.

Collect it in a chipped coffee mug

as it streams through hickory leaves

onto the dewy front lawn

and savor it.

I wonder what it tastes like.

No doubt it would radiate warmth,

a gentle heat that flows like molasses

over your tongue and down your throat

before pooling in your core.

Perhaps it would be buttery and rich

like being home for Christmas

and listening to stories being told

from mismatched dining chairs

around the worn kitchen table

while playing cards late into the night. 

Or maybe it would taste tropical,

with bright citrus and earthy coconut

reminding you to celebrate small victories

like catching up with old friends

over greasy pizza and mini golf

just like you used to do.

I would find a way to bottle it up 

so I could store it for desperate times

when stubborn clouds won’t part

or night refuses to turn into day.

If only I could drink sunlight.