
IF YOU COULD SEE WHERE I LEARNED TO COOK
sousing for my gram & I sing her French love songs
I can’t translate / she knows it’s about eyes & bones & beds
I think / how embarrassing to not speak
the language, to undress parsley of yellow leaves
& crave your tile island / how we don’t speak when eating
the coal quiet / sage leaves soft as rabbit
fur / shredded over risotto you are probably eating right now
in Chicago / I had rice for dinner too / from a freezer bag
because she’s cooked for three generations
& is too tired for big meals two consecutive nights
I take down the big knife, think
I’m helping & regret / I step outside myself
so quickly / table where my plate would go cold
& wait for me all night until breakfast / each portion
hard & dry & still mine / nothing like
the farro dish we ordered twice / chestnuts
& an open hand waiting to take whatever is left
Gram carving pork into the pan
from the back of the fridge / pulling
paring knife into her thumb again
again / two rabbits in the yard / a hutch
she calls The Rabbit Taj Mahal
we had rabbit meatballs that night, yes?
I keep consistent
enough to eyeball a 1/4 cup of diced onion
exactly / it makes her proud to see me
snapping walnuts down to dust by hand
This selection comes from the poetry collection, a falling knife has no handle, available from YesYes Books. Purchase your copy here! Our curator for this selection is Tierney Bailey.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Of the Forest by Linda Ferguson - September 22, 2023
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Of the Forest by Linda Ferguson - September 21, 2023
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Of the Forest by Linda Ferguson - September 20, 2023