Simone Mele

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.