Pumpkin risotto popping in the microwave--
Wafting through the air with warmth and sweetness.
I eat it all up until I see the IKEA logo on the bottom of the tupperware and wonder if you're microwave safe--
But even the chemicals that leak out of plastic taste like 5 star restaurant.
Every small moment is like a meal--Changing flavors and consistances, Quantities,
But each leaving me full like
Pumpkin risotto
Every day without a taste is like a starving day
Just fighting to get through--
I feel my ribs poking through my skin and my stomach turns in knots
While my heart beats for blood like a fish flopping for air on the shoreline.
Pumpkin risotto is unreal--
A blessing and a curse,
A feeling once known
That makes you feel better
But when without it
Much much worse.
When you have it--
You feel content and sleepy,
Dazed, a little.
When you don't,
You know exactly what you're missing every waking second--
Counting clocks to cuisine cooktops crackling out the water stuck under the pan
And the sound of the button click to turn on the overhead fan.
I stand over the empty plastic box and feel full but conflicted as it rests empty--When will I eat again?
Will I grab scraps,
Stabbing for forkfulls of fleeting moments or will I get the full course?
Will I taste all the colors and palettes of pasta and pumpkin and spices whose names I've already forgotten--
Or others?
But even if I could cook it,
I wouldn't--
Warm hands wind their way through to my tongue and tickle me with sensations I cannot create myself.
Pumpkin risotto feels like love and tastes like longing--
A single container dragging out my feeling,
A taste and a problem worth prolonging.
YOU ARE READING
Running Out On Time - Poetry and Prose
PoetryA collection of poetry written after I graduated university and tried to define myself outside the degree I had studied and the small part of Massachusetts that I came from. Travel, self-discovery, love, lonliness, and everything else you can imagin...
