Wednesday, May 26, 2010


"I can see it, the vegetable man. There are a whole bunch of pieces, people portrayed by fruits, flowers, precious gems I think, but my favorite was the vegetable man. The cherry tomato eyes, onion cheeks, cabbage ear and the eggplant forming his beautiful Roman nose and brow. I can't remember the artist's name, Giovanni Archibaldo or something like that, but we can google it later. There are many examples of his work on and and I think there's a anyway, I'm not sure about that either, but I know there's a" I sighed and rolled over onto my stomach.
"I can think of other things to do with vegetables. If you'd like." His fingers slither over the veins in my arms and pause at the scar on my shoulder. "Fruits, sauces, ice cubes and, of course, eggplant. We can go shopping at the farmer's market. I'd like to roll a kiwi on you, drizzle honey down your thighs and just imagine the ecstasy you'll experience with an eggplant. Or two." He smiled wickedly.
"You're silly. I'm talking serious art here, museum art."
"We're naked. It's hard to be serious when we're naked. Besides, it's vegetable art."
"It is hard." I run a fingernail along his skin. "Never mind the farmer's market. Let's just toss a salad with what we have here."

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Last Supper

She loves camping without a tent.
She loves the wind.
I wonder is she feels it now,
blowing the trees that shade the old cemetery.

I pick up a loaf of Italian bread,
cut it in half lengthwise.
Spread softened butter on each side. A whole stick of butter.
Sprinkle liberally with salt.
Not fancy sea salt or black salt or volcano salt or even kosher salt,
just ordinary table salt.
"When it rains, it pours."
Yes. When it rains, it pours.
A whole loaf of Italian bread and a whole stick of butter and a lot of salt.
I eat it methodically, one slow bite at a time, chewing twenty times with each bite,
until it's gone, washed down with Tab,
and wonder when my chicken parmigiana will be served.

I cannot sit shiva, not by Law, but I can share a last meal with her.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Who Are You?

Red print on my cheek,
A perfect match to your palm,
tells it's own story.

Monday, May 10, 2010

It's All About the Crackers, Still

I avoid the rain
Symptom, not cause,
But no longer.