“a fab food-ish poem”

I’m back from Maine and slowly making my way through all of the emails and RSS feeds that have piled up this week like an unseasonal snowdrift, but I wanted to share something Marcella sent to me earlier today.  See, clearly I’m very interested food, but what might not be clear is that I also tend to sometimes be a little bit morbid, so the “fab food-ish poem” that Marcella emailed to me just about hit all the right spots.  It’s featured on Poets.org as “Today’s Poem,” but here it is regardless of the day:

My Autopsy (Excerpt)
by Michael Dickman

There is a way
if we want
into everything

I’ll eat the chicken carbonara and you eat the veal, the olives, the small and glowing loaves of bread

I’ll eat the waiter, the waitress
floating through the candled dark in shiny black slacks
like water at night

The napkins, folded into paper boats, contain invisible Japanese poems

You eat the forks
all the knives, asleep and waiting
on the white tables

What do you love?

I love the way our teeth stay long after we’re gone, hanging on despite worms or fire

I love our stomachs
turning over
the earth

Happy end-of-May, beginning-of-June.

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