the INLAID EAR

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.

Tócame             After Karl Frost Anticipation butters my skin like a hot skillet jumping garlic. You’re going to touch me and take me in. How slowness makes our thoughts come so quick! When our bodies meet—what will happen? We cook a harmonious conflict: If chilies strike, honey blocks. Who wins? Never mind. Measuring’s an ape trick. Instead, let’s will the soup to simmer. I’ve pushed the meat back and seen the bone. Your shades were parted, and your windows stood clear. Then, through my reflected face, I saw your greenest wishes glinting as my shadows passed inside your space. Your truth is true, my dear heretic: We’re ready to slough the carapace and let our whole bodies take the feast. by Gitty Duncan