give it to me tomato red
spread out like
flour all over the counter
cold on my back
mouths burning with
salsa and impulse
cover me with thyme
and brown sugar
dip your fingertips
in the spice jars and let me guess
what is what and which is which
I am gasping, caffeinated, like
the flame marked moka pot,
older than you, than I,
than us both together,
older than this dance, older
than the mothers, and their
pleasure, and their kitchens
filled with smells
leave me someplace warm
so I can rise, in the sun
want feasts on the body
like yeast, souring
as it chews through wheat
the basil is growing from seed
alongside salvaged potato eyes
which watch our backs
I cover everything in cilantro
but you soap-tongued screw
up your face at the taste of it
so I smear honey on my lips, and
bid you lick it off
I sink my hands, up to the elbow
into containers of rice and beans
fancying rain that won’t come till summer
cool like dried legumes and
fine like grains
I draw pictures
in the coffee grounds
spilt at breakfast
run hot water over my hands
until they are red and pink knuckled
wet and clean
Sophie Cardin is a second-year student studying political philosophy and nonviolent theory at Colorado College in Colorado Springs. She was born and raised in Denver. Sophie fell in love with poetry during her early struggles with dyslexia. She is a regular at the Friday Night Poetry Open Mic at the Mercury Cafe and the author of Lust Poems For No One In Particular.
This poem is from the Thought For Food anthology,
a poetry collection benefiting Denver Food Rescue.
You can purchase a copy of the book here.
South Broadway Ghost Society 