What Does This Poem Mean?

Spring in the sugar shack,
my child’s eyes watch my uncle drag
a wooden spoon through a boiling tub of maple sap,
clearing the steam,
exposing the current of a golden-yellow liquid below.
Late that summer,
riding my bicycle through the wheat fields,
the wheat grain flowing like an ocean current
in the gentle breeze,
golden-yellow like the maple sap,
and I imagine I am a wooden spoon.

I wrote that poem last week and
I was pretty sure I knew what I meant to say,
but now it’s a week later and I think
the meaning is something else.

I am the Creator.
I wrote the poem to mean something.
But now, I am the Viewer.
I think it means something else.
I can’t even remember what I thought it meant a week ago.
If the meaning keeps changing for me,
perhaps it will eventually become meaning-less.
For some, I’m sure, it already has.

One day, someone might ask me
how I came up with the idea of the
imagery of the sugar shack and the wheat field.
I will probably make up a story about
how I was comparing and connecting
two childhood memories.
That would be a safe response.
But it would be fiction.

The truth is,
I have never even been to a sugar shack that I recall,
nor have I ridden my bicycle through a wheat field.
Never mind that a wheat field and a sugar shack
are clichés about Canadian rural living.
Frankly, I don’t even know if the colour of boiling maple sap
is actually golden-yellow.
It could be black for all I know.
And maybe stirring a vat of boiling maple sap isn’t even done.
Or if it is, maybe metal spoons are used instead of wooden spoons.
I have no idea.
It just popped into my head.

Well, there I go.
I’ve done it again.
I’ve already forgotten what that silly poem meant to me
even just five minutes ago.

I have no idea where the idea came from.
I have no idea what I hoped I would convey with the poem.
And I don’t know what it means to me now.

Tomorrow, I may interpret something romantic about the poem,
something about boyhood dreams,
about how children glide through the mysteries of life,
engaging in magical transformation,
sap to sugar,
seed to wheat.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *