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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Dining with Lysistrata

 

I haven’t been able to cook for a year

(perhaps it’s even longer)

slow loss of what a friend calls

the lyrical impulse

has taken with it all desire to

wet my fingers with slivers of garlic

sauté immature plants

shred weeds over dough.

I’d gladly iron dozens of neat cotton squares

in anticipation of a single hour’s

blotting against beards, soft lips,

even blacken my hands to polish

each carved twig and bowl and blade of silver

collect dropped beads of molten wax

to fatten un-holy votives.

Just don’t ask me to handle one more

peeled slab of animal flesh, pallid and bloody,

or to powder another dank filet

hauled struggling from the sea.

I’ll assemble the take-out on a pretty plate

fastidious (if not hungry)

but I won’t cook, can’t cook,

won’t even go near the flame.

 

―Anne C. Coon

 
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