Garlic and Vidalia sizzle the pan – little salt, ground pepper – to a swirl of spoon that fills the kitchen with such a sweet breath.
Everything he would have said hovers the table in a perfect wait. Two Zinfandels and baby spring mix, tossed, tomato basil vinaigrette.
The moon, the window, and countertop. Click, click on the cutting board. Water beads along the knife’s edge. This is how to live a life.
Butter, shallots, plum tomatoes, and saffron. Mussels steaming in white wine. “What was that you said?” “Love on a mosaic plate.”
“The angers of the house,” as Hayden would write, and there’ve been some, are lost in the flavors of the tongue – a delirium of the moment.
The weathers of the hand. Grilled asparagus on a plate, roasted potatoes, oil and rosemary. “I could not,” she says, “imagine anything else.”
Two forks, one slice. And coffee dark. The table, the door, and deck. Steps along the hill to the swing by the fence. This is the world.
Previously published in Press 1.
Sam Rasnake is a poet, teacher and guitarist. He edits Blue Fifth Review.
Object(s) to bring back to life: “One of my father’s college books – Art History of the Western World. The book, one of my earliest memories, defined my childhood. It was destroyed in a flood years ago.”