|Thank you thank you to |
Soyinka Rahim for bringing her
mother's art to the book.
My grandmother called this “Snare-a-husband.”
She never wrote out the recipe but
made me memorize it before she died.
I’m humming the song of ingredients,
stirring around your name, my bowl, my bird.
Yet your freedom’s what I love most, my heart,
and I’m far too giddy to bake a trap
even if I wanted to. When we part
tonight with our bellies full, night will wrap
its separate dreams around us. My David,
will you dream of me? Earthy smells rise up
layering the edible atmosphere
held steaming beneath the coal-crusted tarp
of stars. If you will be mine, then we’re here
for that purpose. Eat, my friend. Fill your plate.
Two birds told me about the weight you bear.
Swallow that bite then share, please, share your thoughts.