day 10

my mouth puckers and

I squint my eyes as the acid sinks

into the taste buds under my tongue

too much lemon on the fish

balancing the sour with a large

mouthful of the base

crispy french bread basted with

the perfect amount of butter

my mouth and eyes otherwise engaged

my hand searches, closes around the

cold stem of crystal brimming with juice

just before the edge of the glass

brushes my waiting lips

my eyes catch the newspaper

on the corner of the table

tinted carmine through my

cranberry line of vision

I gulp and do my best to mentally follow

the cooling trail of liquid

descending into my body

when I can no longer trace its location

my fingers find my fork

I stab into the bowl of noodles

swirling the utensil until

an appropriate amount entwines

the metal spines, I open myself

to the bouquet of fresh basil

and sense some tiny joy

as the olive oil splashes

onto my face

this is all another way of saying

I had fish, bread, juice and pasta with pesto

for dinner tonight