Max Nobis – Sweetness Defined

Cleveland poet Max Nobis unspools an ode to Helen, a figure of radiance and mirth, an avatar worthy of adoration. Not unlike the Helen whisked away to Troy, as readers we find the Helen of the prose poem “Sweetness Defined” a fine creature, kind and good. But the Helen of “Sweetness Defined” is not flawless. She is tangible in her imperfections, which make her all the more real. In reading Max’s poem, you can see Helen, feel her warmth, smell her fragrance of menthol cigarettes and perfume. “‘Sweetness Defined’ is a prose poem about Helen, who defines sweetness by loving her sweets, enjoying long sun baths on the back patio, and loving so deeply it makes it into the future,” Max informed The Dewdrop.

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Sweetness Defined

Helen. A Greek name meaning “light” or “torch”. It’s a lullaby of syllables. If you lie in bed and say “Helen” 5 times, you’ll start to feel drowsy. Say it 10 times and your mind will wander into the twilight of your sleep.

If Helen’s name is a lullaby, then her joy is melodic. She’ll harmonize to “Sunshine of your Love” or “You Are My Sunshine” with a smile and a giggle. Helen listens to music the way it’s supposed to be: undoubtedly loud. Helen will stop what she’s doing to sing and dance to Whitney Houston or Michael Jackson. Diana Ross will put a hop and skip into her step while she’s cleaning the house or making blueberry cobbler. Helen thinks joy is contagious. Her dancing will help you shake and rumble into your joy, too.

Helen has a sweet tooth that’ll make your own teeth ache. Chocolate is her vice. If there isn’t any in the house, it’ll make her frantic. Helen doesn’t mind going to the store in the middle of the day for a chocolate run. Helen thinks that the Europeans make the best chocolate. Lindt is usually at the top of her list. She unwraps each one and drops them in her mouth like a Roman empress, each splashing a raindrop of sweetness. There’s never enough sweetness in Helen’s life.

During the summer time, you can catch Helen lying in the sun on the back patio with her pitcher of sweet, iced tea, a novel, and her cigarettes. Her thin arms and stick legs are sun blotted from too many summers on the patio. Helen doesn’t mind. A tan makes everyone skinnier, anyways.

When Helen walks into a room, you can smell her right away. Red Bull mixed with menthol cigarettes but covered in Tresor, her favorite perfume. Helen knows she smells like this, but she doesn’t hesitate to welcome you into a room or give her greetings. You’ll feel her warmth as she wraps you in a hug, even though she doesn’t have much meat on her bones.

Helen’s teeth are pearly and straight, like her hair on a Friday night. Helen’s ideal aesthetic is too high to reach so she’s always the last one to get ready. But her perfectionism is what makes her speak eloquently and her handwriting impeccable. Her captions below scrapbook photos are ornately written, like tiny flower beds explaining your favorite moments from vacation.

Helen is not a stranger to vacations, either. Her trips to Europe show her at peace in front of idyllic landscapes and small villages without a name. Back at home, Helen doesn’t mind escaping into a hot bath and a good novel. Evening is her favorite time to take a bath so she can watch the day become the night from the bathroom window. Without a chance to breathe in the quiet moments of her life, Helen wouldn’t be able to see into the next day.

Helen lives each day a deep sensitivity. Sometimes, she’s wrenched with the violent reaction of her emotions. Helen will isolate herself when they’re too much, even if she doesn’t want to. The burden weighs heavy, but she carries them with grace. Her feelings fill her spirit with gushing hues of violet and blue, like a lantern lit by sapphires, leading the way one step at a time until she can feel like herself again.

Helen’s motherhood is best seen when the lights are low and no one is looking. She’ll sneak into your bedroom to tuck you in if you’re asleep. If she knows you’re awake, she’ll ask how you are, running her sleek fingers through your hair to tousle any troubles away. Her voice sounds like the soft note of a cardinal as you finally fall asleep. Helen’s motherhood is meant for others, too. She’s prepared thanksgiving to halfway houses and chased strangers to return their dropped five-dollar bill. Helen knows what it’s like to be downtrodden with no one to help. But the more she helps others, the gentler she is with herself.

Helen likes to love in the future. You’ll find her affection in love letters sent to nobody and tiny mementos she kept in secret, like old greeting cards and theater tickets. You’ll find them later buried in her hope chest because that’s how Helen’s love is: deeply protected and only meant for you.

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