She stands in the aisle like reverse Stendhal:
frozen, her hand extended over the mound of apples.
Apples push into her like the fists of a lover
knocking at a locked door, urgent, juicy, plump.
It’s always like this: fruit overwhelms, vegetables
scream longing; fresh trout imagines a sizzling grill,
beef lounges in a marinade, ready to sear.
She wants to paint, to cook, to knead warm Continue reading
We pull several of the small, steel-topped tables
together in a row, order our beers; and, while we
sit, making small talk, and waiting for the rest
of the guys to arrive, I wonder if we will sing.
Some of the guys are new, so they won’t;
but we do have all four parts already, so
we could burst into song Continue reading
