Two Years in the Life: My Time as Tacoma's Poet Laureate

MEDICINE BOTTLE

imagine the medicine bottle wakes up
and its amber glass
shows no sign of life
because it is dark inside
the cabinet above the sink,
imagine it somehow reads
its own label backwards
and derives some
meaning from it, realizing
it is responsible
for all the household’s
throats or stomachs or veins,
imagine a new burden
sitting so deathly still
within the green or golden tonic
no rippling wave or
nervous hiccup can disturb it,
run to your cabinets
all of you and try
to open the door in time
to see the image of some bitter root
floating in the bubble of a dream.