Remarks
Writing good free verse poetry is difficult. But after trying hand at writing poetry with a fixed rhyme scheme and syllable count for each line, I can say the latter is significantly harder. I typically end up scowering rhyming dictionaries to find a word that might fit. Of course, I usually don’t get so lucky as to stumble across a word that just so happens to fit just like that. I usually just end up rewriting the whole thing. C’est la vie.
This poem is a first attempt at trying to write a poem with those constraints shackled onto me.
Dumplings
Conscripted and armed with a rolling pin,
I followed orders making dumpling bits.
Press the dough flat—keep quick rhythm, legato—
And stack discs into pagodas: her bliss.
I watched her fingertips guide each wrapping
into their delicate first kiss, sealing
Away their shared heart. She boils them. Alive.
Slowly—her euphemism for annealing.
My creator’s fingers have gone through me.
I have been torn apart, flattened, rolled flat,
filled, and pinched at the edges to perfection.
Yet, I understand, knowing I am glad
For being raised with starlight and tempered
In boiling water; to never burst
Under the weight of the rolling pin which
Razed my wrinkles for better or worse.
So, in my own way, I will fall apart
When I come home to billet. Turned to stone,
Gripping the rolling pin tight as I make
dumplings—always my favourite—alone.