Tonight's Poet Corner: When the Sun Melts

When the Sun Melts
by Belinda Roddie

when the sun melts
into the

butter tin, you know it's
time to bring out the
ancient waffle iron - the one you got from your
grandfather who told stories about

fairies
in his own backyard.
growing in tufts, no less,
like

pixie weeds,
on a stardust midnight.

when you stir in the
flare just enough,
you might just

catch
the syrupy sweetness of a
Moher morning, when the
sugar finally precedes the
salt, and you're left with a

banjo player for a husband and an
accordion extraordinaire for a son,
and they're both

raring to go for Irish breakfast
with beans, when all you want is the
old-fashioned fluff - puffed from worrying,

fanned out by history,
sweetened by time.