They decide to prepare turkey.
She rubs paprika, salt, pepper,
butter into the bird’s skin. Puts
it in the oven turns up the heat.
***
Desire pulls them
onto the floor. Their cries
fill the room. Wet flesh––
stillness.
***
Over dinner they sip
Chardonnay: he tells her
she smooths his hard edges;
she says he softens her heart.
🩷🩷🩷
Melanie Maier was born and raised in San Francisco and attended the University of California, Berkeley (BS) and the University of California, Hastings College of the Law (JD). Melanie’s poetry has been published in reviews such as The Fourth River, Phoebe, The Southern California Review, South Carolina Review and internationally in Gazeta Wyborcza, Warsaw, Poland. She authored three chapbooks: The Land of Us, Scattering Wind and Night Boats in addition to two full-length books of poems sticking to earth (Conflux Press, 2008) and Invention of the Moon (Conflux Press, 2015). Writing poetry is her spiritual practice.
softened my heart...
Oooo...I may never look at turkey the same again! Loved the poem!