Canopic Jar

She turns the spoon slowly, stirring the peanut butter between licks of her oiled lips. “It’s salty! Not sweet? It was always sweet. As a kid I had it.”

Not since then?

“No, no,…” puzzled query of the self, checkingchecking, runonthebanks but “No!”.                                                            sure of herself this time.

It’s good, right?
This ain’t Smuckers, babe.
Spoon dips, lipspartempty. Tattoo of Ka on an olive egg calf and supper for Isis because she’s hungry allthetime, so full of it in flesh, perfume and the gods know she’s on my couch, lounging drapped with folds of pin-stripped duvet and pecking at jasmine tea, leaves in cichlid-blue waters too hot to swim.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s