I made it on a Saturday
with romaine and green leaf lettuce
stems crisp and firm
fresh-boiled eggs in slices
the rose-white flesh of radishes
mushrooms cut kidney-style
spinach with that suede feel
and chicken strips grilled with garlic.
If only it was eaten at the party
or I hadn’t dumbly added dressing
I wouldn’t be standing here a week later
before the bright throat of the refrigerator
afraid to open the blue ironware pot
where Hansel and Gretel are lost
in the furry forest of the fungal underworld
and meat and greens are married
in the shadow of old Miss Havisham’s
spider-riddled wedding cake.
Holding my nose, blindly I bag
the mutant gallimaufry
and drop it in the trash, but as I do
I wonder what alien stews
must be composting in my neighbors’ cans.
See how the imagination festers?
About the author
C.E. Chaffin lived in Mexico for three years before moving to the redwood coast of California where he was joined by the ocean, two… Read the full bio
Issue 03 · February 2009
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
By Henry Walters
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./
In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/
mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/
alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
By Ksenia Rychtycka
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, /
measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. /
Never mind that Mother left this earth /
eighteen months earlier...
By Rimas Uzgiris
The trolley bus won’t go. /
Its reins have fallen from the wires.
By Maryann Corbett
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/
in several African tongues, so far beyond me/
they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
By Pui Ying Wong
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/
are going by in the sturdy fog...
By R L Swihart
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/
with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./
Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/
not there to answer
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose