tanka 5.13

tomatoes simmer

with basil, onions, garlic

filling the kitchen

complex depths with simple things

found in sauces, love, and you

On tomatoes and loneliness

Stephan Anstey is a poet extraordinaire who I’ve been lucky to know for a good 10 years. He wrote 302 poems for April, posted to Facebook. This one of his sparked a poem in me as well.

I watched my knife
cutting cleanly through
the beefstake tomato
about the size of my heart

thinly sliced,
making certain
there’s enough for two

like making our bed,
I layer crisp bacon
lettuce, mayonnaise, toast

and I wrap yours
carefully in press and seal
to throw away later
when you didn’t come home

anticipation of dinner

You feed me slices
of melon and proscuitto,
brushing fingertips

incidentally
over open, awaiting
burgundy stained lips:

a bit of goat cheese,
sip of chardonnay, morsel
of artichoke heart.

Transfixed, I watch as
the silver fork slips into
your receptive mouth-

antipasto seduction,
eyes feasting on you.

Attempting haiku sonnets – a form brought to my attention by Johnny Crabcakes on this post  and  started by David Marshall.

remembered rituals

plain white bread toasted
spread to the edges with jam
dunked in hot black tea

Mercurochrome spread
quickly over knees scraped raw
the hurt blown away

grilled cheese triangles
tomato soup made with milk
and oyster crackers

respecting elders
always saying I love you
flowers on your grave

how to peel an orange

I watch you
peeling an orange –
how your fingertips
graze the
dimpled surface,
thumbs caress
the skin around,
brush across,
the slightly protruding
navel.

Nails biting
into the flesh
firmly before
you slide under
the edges,

peeling off
its outer layers, soon
scattered without care
across the table.

Each segment,
a finger slipped
into the crevice between,
stroked apart
until the orange
is in pieces before you.

Your artist hands
must feel
my kindred hunger-
press against my lip, open,
feed me.

Sweet juices fill
my mouth – I chew even the
bitter seed, savoring all
’til the end.