|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
It’s maraschino red,
so red you can’t help but think
it’s insincere. Reminds me of ketchup
in Copenhagen, perfect foil for those Danish
sausages that astonished with chubby flavor.
Or the blood of afterbirth. This jam, in its tiny rectangle,
reminds me of the Sunflour Cafe in Seattle and the enormous
affection I reserve for breakfast. And unfortunately,
it reminds me of you in Miami, wet from shower in ruby robe.
About Risa Denenberg