I put the tupperware cup in
front
Of her. It’s one of those
small, orange cups
You can cover, so it’s good
for storing bits of onions
Cut for tacos or for saving
the last raisins
From the box that was taking
up too much room
In the refrigerator. This
time,
It has a small scoop of
vanilla
Ice cream in it and my two
year old daughter
Murmurs “icy” delightfully
as she demolishes
The mound. The scoop is soon
a sweet film
Painting the bottom of the
cup,
Elusive and tasty.
Sustaining
That taste is now her life’s
work
As she scrapes her spoon on
the orange plastic,
Lifting crescents of
sweetness,
Like a sculptor shaping the
lips of Epicurus
By removing the smallest
slivers of marble.
Then she turns the cup
upside down
To let the melted syrup drip
upon her tongue,
Like dollops of Pollack’s
Expressionism.
Finally, she wipes the sides
of the cup
With her finger to make her
minimalist
Statement about art: Even
the tiniest acts
Of creativity are meant to
extend experience.
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