TIE Poet of the Month: Wende Crow

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We probably won’t like each other much
There probably won’t be a spark
Or we will like each other
Just enough to wound each other now
Leave each other later
Anyway I stand in front of the fridge
And eat pickle relish from the jar
With a spoon or just
My finger
And for dessert
Peanut butter from the jar
Definitely just my finger
This is my two-course morning
In the glow of the open refrigerator
Eyes cruddy with mascara and liner
Not having bothered to wash my face
Before bed
Maybe your days alone are messy
Maybe there will be a spark
Two fingers in the same jar
Some messy union
But some of us are better
Off alone
Oh please
Write me just
Touch me anyway

Wende Crow lives in Atlanta, where she teaches computer literacy to refugees . Her poems and essays have appeared in New Haven Review, Ploughshares, The Bakery, and other journals.

We are proud to introduce a new feature: The Inquisitive Eater Poet of the Month.  Each month a contemporary poet will present three poems and one personal essay in which food is consumed, passed over, or reckoned with.  Please welcome our inaugural poet for the month of October, Wende Crow.