Not Right Now
On the eve of my thirtieth birthday
my left knee woke me
swollen from an old wound. Happy birthday,
Simone! Happy return, anniversary
of dark days. I remember you.
I bought a crystal and touched its point
to each dear thing. I really have thought about
how to do this differently. Alight on this table
there is no futurememory.
Inside this gem there is infinity, there is just
infinity. I trap my love in. I keep it with my rage.
I keep it like a secret. I take my medicine.
So the question how long will this last is a piece of glass
in a garbage disposal becoming sand mixed with organic decay
like beach grass and hard shelled things with their insides’
soft tendons calcified by light and air, & turned by
waves & sand that soften and bleach. For example what time
is it is silicate ground to dust when startled awake and late
I held its not your fault in one hand and how could you do this
in the other like two seashells each bleached and softly
screaming the ocean in each ear while when did that happen
another diffusion of something both aromatic
and mineral in this question how much longer meaning I can’t bear
this present and I love this present turned in a late tide where
I am a little pearl of seamoss, some odors carried on the wind
to a future where you love me even when this is all over
When we add two like liquids
together it is called marrying.
When we add two dislike liquids
together it is called a mistake.
When the mistake tastes good
it is called temperance. Tempering
yolks prevents a custard
from breaking. Breaking
is the separation of a liquid’s
fats from proteins. Curds from whe
-rever. When we whisk the yolks the
whisk is a wheel that turns her world around it.
The center of the bowl is the center.
Then the machine wheeling the air
into it: I mean it: the world. This too we call
temperance: a magician tricking the tongue.
Simone Mele is a poet, bartender and ceramic artist in Kansas City.