112. Muscles, for One

the smoke | of the fire

as the flavor | from the heat

the simple | application

of fire | against a food

in that | careful manner

provides the | transfor

mation of | the food

stressed by | heat to

provide another | version

of itself | to taste

because a food | is not

of one flavor | monotonous

it modulates with | heat

herb | the manner of

cutting | time | spice

the expansion | of scent

into air | across the

room | held in the

cup of a spoon | to the nose

to presage | the tongue

 

the muscle | makes the meal

not the flesh | of the beast

dead | and drained of blood

but the muscle of | the man

in the preparation | of

the muscle | prepared

by hours of cutting | to feel

how to dice | where to slice

when crushing | releases

best the | scent and taste

of food | which is the

canvas | we cook with

the black shell | of the

mussel | steamed

with wine | and tarragon

enough salt | to entice

the tongue | to taste

how the garlic | engentled

yet endures | how bread

sops up | the juices thereof

 

yet a meal | is not

a making | but a taking

in | to the body

the bounty of | the earth

as small | or broad as

it might be for | any

one person | in their

particular place | with

their own | abundances

and emptinesses | for

to eat is | to feed the

body | for the mind

that makes | it work

and the taste| of

a single mussel’s brown

flesh | the bite into

it | the scent of fall

in the air | is not a

feeding of the body

but a wish | to live