We Do What’s Left To Do

J McSweeney
Joyelle McSweeney

My notion of art is very maximalist and souped up; I love spectacle, overload, magic materials, magic words, incantation and litany, incarnation and possession, spilling and wounds.  Art as a sacred event.

Joyelle McSweeney

Your Cool Whip

by Joyelle McSweeney

Inside the plump tub, we find the whiteness
Wears a peculiar swirl.  You guess a motherly pump
Nuzzled the young surface, left this umbilical mark
Of the factory, that vague, prenatal hum
And glide, the kissing valves and shutes
Pouring little vessels full.  Our talk does not
Long linger there, in those maternal corridors;
In desire there is only the present.  Our prurient fingers,
Divoting the swell, are surprised not to sink
Infinitely deep.  They butt against the plastic tub;
The sheer stiff molds around them, takes their heat:
Stasis the death of what is less than love.
We do what’s left to do. We eat.


by Joyelle McSweeney

Leaf-keep, un-sibyl; if the soul
Has the weight of a swallow, what less
Has the weight of a sip? You equal
This riddle, unposed in your dish
As a hand at rest in a lap. Held to,
You hold back what can’t be
Prevented, what’s no more palatable
For that: the unfine; formerly, our future.


Published by

A Sonnet Obsession

I am a life-long Minnesotan who resides in Minneapolis. I hope you enjoy my curated selection of sonnets, short poems and nerdy ruminations. I am pleased to offer Fourteenlines as an ad and cookie free poetry resource, to allow the poetry to be presented on its own without distractions. Fourteenlines is a testament to the power of the written word, for anyone wanting a little more poetry in their life.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s