Tonight under an unkissed moon—
the recipe is disappearing, a dialogue
with rising tides and a lightship
crashing against a blue shore of healing.
When I struggle in a diorama
of traffic, I become the silver orb
in a city’s pinball machine—be here now
—flung against the pulsing lights
and hectic newspapers that papier-mâché
themselves to my legs, my life, I forget
it’s been years since I’ve seen neon
flickers, now the only language I speak
is seascape, a searchlight, a map
made of unintelligible emotions
I try to navigate. If I could be any age,
I’d be the heartbeat just before
the butter melts, where everything
is soft and easy, a cookbook
for a sacred life. And when I’m desperate
for spices, I go to the bodega to buy love,
but the owner gives me wine and a new pen,
says, This is probably better—and how can I
argue? I had forgotten to pack a lunch,
forgotten how much I ache for anyone
to rest their words against my lips.
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From Dialogues with Rising Tides by Kelli Russell Agodon. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press. Copyright © 2021 by Kelli Russell Agodon.
