A poem about tomato sauce.
|what happened to my arteries?
once so full and so effective
and your mother's recipe
the freshest tomato sauce that
she ever knew. do you still
make every second count as much
as the entire day, week, year?
i hope we can experience
waking. for the first time ever
will it ease from behind the sun
and then transform into something
made of the sweetest spoken sounds?
the cool air stings so much more now
it can only be this feeling
something slow and fast like fire flies
colliding and spreading about
thinking they're as equal as
the tomato sauce that you made.
it was the air on the back of
my two eyes. each sphere suspended
you should have seen how they crumbled
the world was made of this distinct,
buzzing sound. I thought that it was
another fire fly inside
the kitchen. I could have sworn that
it was something else.