The opening to one of my poems

Funny moment at SALA — someone stopped me in the hall and said she liked the problem with going deep is that you can fall in. And I had this moment of bewilderment, because that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember why. And then she explained a little more, and I realized oh, right, that’s the opening to one of my poems that’s in Feast, and I had put a copy out on a table for browsing.

Maybe I should write less, so I remember it better. 



The problem with going deep
is that you can fall in.
You find yourself reheating
frozen food, a pale imitation
of the real thing. Making
other dishes over and over
trying to remember
decades-old cinnamon
in the nose, lime on the tongue,
chili heat lingering on your lips —
a pain that you seek out repeatedly.

Sometimes you think your heart
can’t take it; it would be easier
to order pizza instead. Who
doesn’t love melted cheese?

Yet here you are, microwaving
frozen hoppers that you keep
stashed in the basement
deep freeze. Hoarded for
those days when you need
them, even if it hurts.



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