Page 67 - Contrast2016

CONTRAST - 65

HARVEST FESTIVAL

BY NADIA SOREZZA

everything tastes like
ashes
my plate is a murky seaglass
tainted with mustard and sweet potatoes
the color of a vomit sunset

I pace back
and forth between
the water cooler and our
gathered table

I melt into my tawny seat
that is misplaced, bent wrought iron
against marbled mahogany

disassociating rapidly neck
I end up curled up

spine stretched like the turkey's
spliced into our beans

I hear "Peanut"

and it sounds like they are
calling for a person
that is lost

to the expectations
of mid life marriage
and barefoot breeding

I drink
straight vodka
to try and revive
these ashes into
new life