Cook with me and be my love...
This week's topic at Poetry Thursday is synaesthesia. It's the intermingling of our senses, an ability — or gift — some people have. I totally agree that writing with the senses is the key to good writing. I also love the idea of the senses co-mingling. If you can drink in beauty, taste and smell fear, peel your eyes (one of my son's favorite things to do), taste the rainbow (oops, Skittles commercial), wear your heart on your sleeve, then why not smell your delight? Why not hear the love? Touch your disbelief? Why not run your fingers up the sleeve of caution? Take a risk. Look regret in the eye. Write a poem. And so, in no reference whatsoever to my own marriage (really!) here is my synaesthetic offering...
Why It's Important to Cook a Meal Together
They say you can feel the unraveling
of a marriage as surely as a blind man reads Braille.
You will see it coming in the way your fingertips
no longer brush, hear how even your knives
and spoons refuse to clash in the sink, smell
how one pair of underwear accepts
the fresh breeze of fabric softener,
one, still clinging, embraces
static, denies scent altogether.
A cooling union makes no sound.
The end will be soft and raw,
surprising, like a fork sliding into a risen muffin,
pulling roughly out, covered in batter.
In your white dress, in your black
tails and tie, stinking of new love, clean
kisses, you have no idea how sense
will betray you. It will not be so obvious
as apple pie without sugar,
macaroni and cheese with no elbows.
No. The spoiling of a marriage tastes
more like meatloaf without the bread
crumbs holding it together.
The egg, beaten, is there. The meat, mashed
into shape, is there. It is the loaf crumbling
off your fork, falling all over your plate,
missing your mouth completely
that lets you know you’re hungry.
So tell me, ladies, gentlemen,
what are you serving for dinner tonight?