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Or I'd Invite You to Dinner

by Elizabeth Shaw

Fresh rosemary and tarragon
shallot rings finely spritzed,
these sprigs with tender thoughts for you
I'd dapple in a rosé blush
and marinade two Cornish hens
humming on a lazy swing
by a slow burning fire.

That after visiting outcrops of limestone mansions,
fossils chiselled in quarry riverbeds,
I would sip in the sanguine of a page turning albums
warmed by the dancing on your walls;

And I would not be offended as you nodded across from me
lingering in the aromas of days gone by,
if you squeezed the oils from the olives
and took your book upstairs that night;
some baths are meant to take alone.

As I marvel at the caramelized beauty of outliers
still clinging to their winter roots,
have been wined and dined on "Anna of the Poor House";
the telltale rings on the cover proof
those shadows that light up your face
speak volumes over mantle clocks
that have their tics,
their teeth conflate,
brush against those parts of me too shy to even ask;

Were I to peel my soul a candle bright as hillsides flecked in iris,
if you favor parsnips over turnips over
what the f...
yes - I would crane stick my neck out or invite you to dinner
if you would paint in distant archways with dilating feathers
that have basted the creases of another's garden bed.


Posted on 04/18/2012
Copyright © 2024 Elizabeth Shaw

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 04/18/12 at 11:32 AM

A wonderful write m'lady. Tis intamcy done to taste just right!

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/24/13 at 11:35 PM

if your cooking is anything like your poetry divine, why would anyone dine elsewhere? tis fair to say, why dine, epicure elsewhere when heaven herself has touched the palate? in thrall would all buds be imbibing on your fine fare.

Posted by Amos Last on 01/31/14 at 09:53 AM

....basted the creases of another's garden bed... oh yes, oh my, how delicious, this

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