A M Y  S O R I C E L L I

 

 

I don’t leave my head, but it seems you are on a mountain
with just your camera.
You climbed it without a crew, or safety gear.
Your mother didn’t know.
I ask myself if the other side of the street would be safer,
better lit.
I wonder if it’s worth the extra turn of the block
to see what really happens there.
Then I find you are under the ocean with a turtle,
deciding if his foot is okay, or if the jewels
on the bottom are real.
Sometimes I’ll stand before the pesto chicken,
thinking,
each day I have grilled,
and when it’s my turn I give the same words in the same order;
an alphabet of lunch.
I heard you just climbed a tree to taste the native fruit,
then sliced it into thin strips with some meat cured by centuries of one family.
I would picture that in my head, too,
if there were room.

 

 

 

 


Photo credit: picture is of Courtney Luing …taken by Olivia Isbell

 

 

 

 

 

 


©Literati Magazine 1999-2020. All rights reserved.


 

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.