A Public Sphere for Poetry, Nature, and Politics
How many women have stood like me,
in their underwear, flipping potato-filled
dough in a frying pan, a man on the brain?
I’d never admit to liking the sizzle,
the popping sound my stove makes.
The body wants weird things:
a pat on the head, raspberry-filled chocolate,
Last week I almost set my kitchen on fire,
didn’t know I had the back burner on
until I saw flames out of the corner of my eye,
like when I saw you standing in the doorway
of the tattoo shop, your body on fire with light.
I liked the flame, watched it burn my skull painting
until I had to put it out.
From First Red, published by Main Street Rag. Copyright 2016 Kayla Sargeson.