My Peanut Butter
rests consistently,
its consistency,
in jars of glass.
Natural,
oily,
chunky and firm;
stirred with powerful tools
'til smooth like butter.
Shelved
in darkness
with other palatable favorites
awaiting its chance
to satisfy a craving.
Dreaming
of apple wedges and
golden brown toast;
being dolloped or spread
or licked from silver spoons.
My Peanut Butter
called by one name;
roasted, salted,
ooey, gooey, delicious.
Originally poem composed October 22, 2022 for #TeachWritetober22
Published by Donnetta Norris
| Christian | Wife | Mom | Teacher | Writer |
Donnetta Norris is a 2nd grade teacher in Arlington, TX. She has been an educator for the last 12 years. She enjoys reading professional, children’s, and MG literature. Being in the classroom with her Scholars brings her the most joy, and she is passionate about, and committed to, improving her writing craft as a teacher-writer. She is a community leader and facilitates workshops with TeachWrite, LLC.
View all posts by Donnetta Norris