Demeaned Menu

I had cultivated the land, learned the seasons and the defects of droughts
Seen right through the crops of plants with tenderness, watered at dusk
I had gathered all the fruits on a table devoid of any past
Decided on the blends, decided on the maturation times
Accompanied the unknown towards its unveilings
I had waited, I had waited
That the tastes should be thin-skinned and the memory magnanimous
Then slowly opened the need to offer with the fingers that remained
To spread the aromas of this new knowledge
Ordered the dishes, placed the condiments around the mouths
Feeding the Beloved
Hours to chop, grind, pound, cut, press
The seed of my rebellion and my impatience
Hours and days to learn the minutiae of alliances

It is too late, everything has burned
My bottoms are calcined
The door of my back had to stay closed

All the lacy tablecloths drawn tight over the inconsistency
The glasses are empty as is the space amidst the scents
Nobody knew how to come and savor these attempts
Nobody knew how to sip my exaltations
Neither my pulp
The matter goes to pieces

The matter of days, of waiting and dreams
The time of meal distorted in the memories
An insignificant moment

At the far end of this garden
Where I had planted the stings of my conscience
I now see a shadow. It is there for a long time

July 2015