Scots Wed

By John M. Anderson

Hot oatmeal between us — your bowl, mine,
and the common pot all full with meal the warm

color of brain or bone — this platinum gruel
set with rich jewels of raspberry deep

as contusions, welling.
Breakfast swollen as the overcast

winter sky that fills the window roiling.
Spoon it warm as life into your nut-sweet mouth,

the whole grain melted into this proto-bread. Lift
its little gasp of steam to feed your answering breath.