when i was seventeen
i learned how to eat
the glow of what is
uncommon,
softer than sin.
Normal is mediocre, she said, sipping
the inevitable Chardonnay. Fresh fish
swam in my blood.
Teach me, I begged, reaching
for her
fork. Lemon juice
flowed like a painless blood
from the corners of her lips.
I smiled
and took another vicious bite,
my throat throbbing
and aching
to be filled. She raised her empty glass
and toasted
to the child in me
dying.
To Us.
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