callie s. blackstone

Our last meal was supposed to be salmon,
thick slabs of flesh wrapped in paper,

but I ate McDonald’s instead, 
stale bread framing
peppery grease, finger prints
smearing across my phone, 
you told me to come home, 
said you had cooked mad 
before and would again, 
that it wasn’t worth wasting 
food, told me you were mad 
but refused to talk it out, wanted us to choke
down our anger with dinner, choked it down
for years, choked it down 
since you first laid eyes on me 
a decade ago in that bar
and made the mistake of saying yes

eagerly yes

when I lured you in

Untitled

Did you know honey
is the only food that can last
forever?

When we dip apple slices
in it, when we ask for a sweet
new year–did you know it
can last forever? This year,
forever? All of it, 
forever?

You and me, 
forever?