A place to get unfound decentered no middle how to thread
These orange socks Pluck the rosemary Chop the rosemary Fingers taste
like green herbs Books spilt all over the table No clean forks to be found,
the faded silver dulling tips Bought years ago in Brooklyn
A corner restaurant suddenly going out of business,
How many potatoes will there be guests? Do we need wine?
Oh, sober again? Losing light pull the curtains Kids on the street shouting
Can you hold this? Sharp cheddar against the grater Swamp-green kale ripped from stem
I used to know a girl Who would eat bell peppers like apples I was in an undergrad
This was Portland we had a poetry class together we worked at a bookstore mostly untogether
Rarely did our shifts overlap Our classmates said she was just being eccentric I
didn’t bother to care but as I cut yellow and red bell peppers I
see her biting into one I think we were walking to a W.S. Merwin reading
what was her name? I think I had a girlfriend but was lonely I think I
was worrying about making rent paying car insurance
Elanor almost makes me wish I was no longer agoraphobic because I used to cook huge dinners for everyone oh this poem is so fucking tender all of it every bit. maybe I’ll venture out today?
Walking to a reading! This one is truly stunning, Steven!