← v7n1, Spring 2008
Poetry · Volume 7, Number 1

Menu

She dances through the kitchen door,

grins twice as she recites

tonight’s menu: paté on lavash,

leg of lamb, Amarone.

Her nose says all is not right

out there in the speeded-up world,

but close to her stove the smell

is slow, Mediterranean.

Friends go on with petty fights

but she alights on a stool,

stirs three sauces on this day

her daily bread, leavened or not

here she comes, tongue on fire

with flavor, her body floating on air.