Wrist Deep

Taking a break from the pebble poem.

Paint, Spice, and Light

Because the amateur cook didn’t know
what to do he utilized every spice
and all at once—thyme and Worchester sauce;
garlic salt, turmeric, parsley flakes, soy—
This is the way he painted, like color
was a sense he could taste, like his palate
was the cupboard, the flavors his wet paints;
took the Pollack approach to cooking, or
maybe no one told him about finesse,
depth; or no one said how a pinch left out
versus the pinch put in could make it right—
like life—could be enough to save the dish.
No. So no one told him it’s not pigment
but light, that built upon itself, makes white.