I can’t sit at the dining table 

& listen to the morning swarm 

of words buzzing around my hair 

hovering not entering my ears    

(this tablecloth of hardened rice

& wide-angled magenta lotus flowers).

To come home is to steam tradition      

& I admit love is a dry chunk of it.    

But my patience does not endure. 

The turkey in the oven has been 

dressed with salt & oil since 3 A.M.

Soon we’ll eat from our wounds.

Artwork by: Edouard Manet