Gingerbread House Lit Mag

The Next Supper

Chocolate pumpkin brownie with a side of regret. Compliments
of the chef. Let go of what doesn’t make sense. How can I serve you?
The stomach is a wall I can’t see inside of. Everything looks the 
in the dark – it’s like guessing the difference between sugar and salt.
Let go of what doesn’t make sense. The stomach is a two-way mirror
and something is bubbling inside. Something is watching me. I’m talking
about a want so strong it punches you in the teeth. I’m talking the aftermath
of orange glazed pheasant when you reach your hand into the chaos
and pluck out the bones. How can I serve you
the hard shine of that moment. Maybe we’re not meant to see inside
the walls of other people’s houses. Or pigs. Pigs probably
figured that out long ago. The importance of walls
that can’t be blown down. The importance of keeping your mouth closed
before someone sticks an apple in it. Today’s appetizer
is duck doughnuts with apple honey sauce. Let go
and make space for something new. What if we could do it all over?
The steamy sheen of a freshly washed plate. And in the center,
a tiny seed. It’s time to sit down and eat.

Kristina McDonald

Kristina McDonald received her MFA from Eastern Washington University. Her chapbook Stories I Tell My Godmother was published by Dancing Girl Press in 2015. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, including The American Journal of PoetryNarrativeNew Guard ReviewSugar House Review, and Yemassee. 

Artwork: Sandra Ovenden, A Still Life in Motion

This entry was published on January 31, 2019 at 12:04 am and is filed under 34 (January 2019), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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