Sop-o-rific

The sop of it is terrific.

Look at it soak
up
all that white.

I could tear it, another
piece of this
bread, more white bread
to take up
more white milk.

I could dip it –
this piece, this time
not in milk, but tea
or better yet,
tea and milk –
to slowly watch
the white
darken.

Or gravy,
I’ve never made gravy,
with or without
its little lumps, but I’d like to
dump its brown out
over
a large white plate, and sop.

A milksop is a person
easily frightened.

I don’t frighten
easily.

Sometimes I do
need to bribe myself
to sleep, and stop
these soakings,
when I listen
to the stillness and think
about
the ways I can soak up your voice.