My cup of metaphors spills out;
its saucer overflows.
My thoughts are image-steeped
like tea in pouches, hung from words.
With sounds and pictures—color, shape–
delighting eye, caressing ear,
the heady brew one can mistake
for something soothing, something clear.
The first sip pleases—calming, warm—
a fuller swallow reveals more.
The whole cup drained—and then a qualm—
exposing meanings veiled before.
“Bring me the sunset in a cup” is the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem numbered XXXIX on p.103 of The Selected Poems of Emily Dickinson Introduction by Billy Collins, The Modern Library, 2000.
©2014 Marguerite Beck-Rex