There was time when I would open my heart to the sun
carry the ladder and let gravity pull me back down to the ground
so I could fee…feel
your touch
The wind is fills the empty spaces
traces of what was there before
Nomdore Gnike
What do you eat at home? I want to roast a whole duck for you with rainbow peppercorns and butter and grapefruit, serve it with crispy Brussels sprouts tossed in olive oil and Meyer lemon and parmiggiano-reggiano. After dinner, you can live your life in my vast reading chair, and end it in my bed, depending on the way the planet spins. I want to make a French toast scramble with coffee for your breakfast.
Fox Hedgehog
Streaks of gray peppered her hair. No, shooting stars–Elizabeth Bishop and Lota and The Shampoo and the tenderness of your fingers in someone’s soapy hair, like a child, almost. Different, though. The tenderness of graying hair, the tenderness of aging lovers. Sometimes I don’t know why people are so afraid of their aging. I think, maybe, I’m young and don’t know anything but even people my age feel like their lives are already over. I’ll be 26 in January and it makes no difference to me–I simultaneously have kind of always felt 10 years old, 33 years old, 50 years old. I just realized Elizabeth Bishop was an Aquarius too. I don’t really believe in astrology, though. Does that make me an unhip gay? So be it. “Unhip.” That word, too, is always connected to aging; again, aging–always a negative. Sometimes I think everyone is just afraid of death–or else uselessness, irrelevancy, obsolescence. My professor is always asking “So what?” when we give her a thesis; as if every word, every, statement, every question, every thing has to prove itself. Do we have to prove ourselves? Convince everyone we’re worth the resources? I honestly dislike it all very much. Everyone I like is old, everyone I like is an infant, a toddler, maybe–marveling at the universe and asking why the sky is blue, why people act these ways and do these things. I want to always be a literal fucking baby, I want to never know enough things, I want to always annoy people with my questions, with my incessant talking, I want my existence to dare people to tell me “Because I said so” in exhaustion, and I want to not accept that, make them take the energy to explain it. You can always find a metaphor to explain things to toddlers, I do it all the time, I love it. Explaining neurotoxins, shitty capitalist practices, the military industrial complex, entropy. It takes time but time is good, time is worth it. Time is the difference between knowing and the shame of wanting to know. Time is intentionality. I want to never know anything, including this paragraph.
THERE WAS A DAY WHEN I WAS COOKING BREAKFAST IN I LOOK INTO THE CABINETS IN THERE WAS NO PEPPER FOR THE SCRABBLE EGGS…IT WAS EXHAUSTING THAT I HAD TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE JUST FOR PEPPER.
AMANDA R GARZA
The chicken breast touched her tongue. She tasted regret. There was a reason she was minimal with her spices, and she should’ve know that she spilled too much pepper onto her meal.
Amy
It seems that desire and disappointment come in pairs, like a set of salt and pepper shakers or a Buy-One-Get-One Free sale.
Sara Mitchell
Salt and pepper, garlic powder, and also an orange glaze. That’s how I season the Christmas ham that I serve on the holiday. The sweet and savory settle sharply on my wandering tongue, and then I decide to propose a toast to peace for everyone. Then of course, we all get roaring drunk and sing carols off-key. I hope despite the dissonance, we live in harmony.
Belinda Roddie
The taste invades her tongue as quickly as it is shoved into her mouth. The bite of the pepper was overbearing–moreso than she had previously believed. But she wasn’t one to give up as easily, though.
Val
pepper is used to spice things or you can a bell pepper used to make things taste better or you can have a spicy pepper or crushed red pepper there is really a lot of kinds of pepper.
There was time when I would open my heart to the sun
carry the ladder and let gravity pull me back down to the ground
so I could fee…feel
your touch
The wind is fills the empty spaces
traces of what was there before
What do you eat at home? I want to roast a whole duck for you with rainbow peppercorns and butter and grapefruit, serve it with crispy Brussels sprouts tossed in olive oil and Meyer lemon and parmiggiano-reggiano. After dinner, you can live your life in my vast reading chair, and end it in my bed, depending on the way the planet spins. I want to make a French toast scramble with coffee for your breakfast.
Streaks of gray peppered her hair. No, shooting stars–Elizabeth Bishop and Lota and The Shampoo and the tenderness of your fingers in someone’s soapy hair, like a child, almost. Different, though. The tenderness of graying hair, the tenderness of aging lovers. Sometimes I don’t know why people are so afraid of their aging. I think, maybe, I’m young and don’t know anything but even people my age feel like their lives are already over. I’ll be 26 in January and it makes no difference to me–I simultaneously have kind of always felt 10 years old, 33 years old, 50 years old. I just realized Elizabeth Bishop was an Aquarius too. I don’t really believe in astrology, though. Does that make me an unhip gay? So be it. “Unhip.” That word, too, is always connected to aging; again, aging–always a negative. Sometimes I think everyone is just afraid of death–or else uselessness, irrelevancy, obsolescence. My professor is always asking “So what?” when we give her a thesis; as if every word, every, statement, every question, every thing has to prove itself. Do we have to prove ourselves? Convince everyone we’re worth the resources? I honestly dislike it all very much. Everyone I like is old, everyone I like is an infant, a toddler, maybe–marveling at the universe and asking why the sky is blue, why people act these ways and do these things. I want to always be a literal fucking baby, I want to never know enough things, I want to always annoy people with my questions, with my incessant talking, I want my existence to dare people to tell me “Because I said so” in exhaustion, and I want to not accept that, make them take the energy to explain it. You can always find a metaphor to explain things to toddlers, I do it all the time, I love it. Explaining neurotoxins, shitty capitalist practices, the military industrial complex, entropy. It takes time but time is good, time is worth it. Time is the difference between knowing and the shame of wanting to know. Time is intentionality. I want to never know anything, including this paragraph.
THERE WAS A DAY WHEN I WAS COOKING BREAKFAST IN I LOOK INTO THE CABINETS IN THERE WAS NO PEPPER FOR THE SCRABBLE EGGS…IT WAS EXHAUSTING THAT I HAD TO GO TO THE GROCERY STORE JUST FOR PEPPER.
The chicken breast touched her tongue. She tasted regret. There was a reason she was minimal with her spices, and she should’ve know that she spilled too much pepper onto her meal.
It seems that desire and disappointment come in pairs, like a set of salt and pepper shakers or a Buy-One-Get-One Free sale.
Salt and pepper, garlic powder, and also an orange glaze. That’s how I season the Christmas ham that I serve on the holiday. The sweet and savory settle sharply on my wandering tongue, and then I decide to propose a toast to peace for everyone. Then of course, we all get roaring drunk and sing carols off-key. I hope despite the dissonance, we live in harmony.
The taste invades her tongue as quickly as it is shoved into her mouth. The bite of the pepper was overbearing–moreso than she had previously believed. But she wasn’t one to give up as easily, though.
pepper is used to spice things or you can a bell pepper used to make things taste better or you can have a spicy pepper or crushed red pepper there is really a lot of kinds of pepper.