Writing and Knowing

I’m feeling inspired by the poetic guidance in The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry. Presently reading the chapter “Writing and Knowing”… hence the name of this poem.

Writing and Knowing

I know the kitchen, the confines of its smell
sometimes escaping the borders
of acceptable behavior. the waft, the clouds
the cycle sourced from my hands.
this delicate surgery has transformed into
an excellent prognosis, bubbling
but cohesive, wet without being soup
love without being complicated.
sit with your shoulders up. elbows
off the table, on the table—it doesn’t matter.
service is inconsequential, shape is a secondary thought.
we are empty stomachs and full hearts released
from responsibility.
our destiny is no longer in my hands, maybe it never was.


Ferry Street

I am talking to someone
through you as sound
gets emptied, the table
is full of small plates
I have half-eaten stories
left over under greens.

I wonder at those tired
eyes, what has been eaten
will be remembered
or not even worth the name
I was given one too and
have been called many
food, flavor                     this skin
myself given up for disorderly consumption.

Here is what it takes to live between the mouth
to take it in slowly
eat with gourmet kindness
tell the same story again and again
as if I am the best meal you’ve ever had.