It’s a busy blogger month. Some are A toZ’ing , others are PAD’ing (poem-a-day) via NaPoWriMo’ing. Sadly, I will not be participating.
My harsh mistress—the current WIP—has me on a short leash. She’s eliminated all but agent sleuthing for the completed novel and writing pages for the new one. Like any toddler worth their weight, I threw a good tantrum, tossed my blocks, spilled my wine, whined and howled in public. In the end, my harsh mistress relented knowing she can’t control me entirely. Resigned, she accepts I can’t resist the romance of poetry and has given me permission to dabble between pages.
As my current WIP is a story within a story, with one of the two being told through a cookbook of stories, Heartburn, didn’t feel like I was cheating on my WIP.
Hamburgers, crisp kosher pickles, almond butter and strawberry
jam on toasted whole wheat bread slightly burned,
pico de gallo with freshly chopped jalapeño-seeds too,
roasted Yukon potatoes, seasoned with roughly cut
rosemary, salt and extra pepper, butter instead of olive
oil, cooked until the center melts on your tongue, Rib eye
instead of New York, pink but not red, Pinot that teases
the back of the throat tingling the senses and not the
palate, hot mushy chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven,
nibbled then gobbled until the extra room left from a dinner of
herb-roasted chicken and smashed potatoes, is filled.
Kisses that last longer than a breath, and taste salty, sweet,
and spicy, like cayenne pepper only hotter, hands that hold,
embrace, wrap, that tether me to you and you to me, words of
passion shared, lived, acted upon, between sheets and on top of,
in chairs, in moments stolen, invented and enjoyed, again and
again and again, until the meter runs out of dimes, the lights
restored, passions spent, phones ring, and messages left, a
love that is hot, scalding to touch, passions unexplainable, not defined
nor containable, but visible in the vapors wafting overhead
as we walk, talk, sit in proximity, the joy in the moment multiplies
in twos, until a love of one by one is given but not accepted by the other.
Green chili stew cooked in haste with heart friendly fat,
scooped up with delicately crunchy fried sopapillas, now soggy
with salty tears from the spice in the stew or is it the loss of his
passionate response to words that once left him undone,
tequila, bitter but effective, numbs the burn of the heat and
the heart-equally, but only until the sun burns away the
light of the moon, reminding another day is lost and too soon
followed by endless mornings of too many cups of Jamaican
mountain blue, stale Special K, two-percent, a teaspoon of
artificial sweetener, later a 90 calorie yogurt, a cup or two of pity
me, until the tequila can soothe the burn in heart and dim the
light of the night following the day.
What’s keeping you busy this month?