leftovers

leftovers

creak open the freezer, 

let the ice 

scald my hands, 

flushed warm and fuzzy

if only 

for a moment. 

gooseflesh thighs,

I'm elbow-deep 

in the TV dinners--

mustard yellow

smearing across

greased panels, 

mackerels staring,

their lips sour-puckered.

looking 

left, right, center--

am I hungry 

or just wanting? 

for that little something, 

somewhere between

the coconut curry 

and the 

convenience store fries--

near a corner

of sandwich crust 

that something lingers,

peanut butter jelly gravy 

pooling

like rainy day mud 

in her socks.

and

not daring 

to break 

the milk-skim silence, 

I close the fridge--

leave her, 

quietly, 

another 

fluorescent day-night. 

in the 

green forest 

of mother's jiǔcài hézǐ ¹

she will wait, 

marinating in the flavor 

I can never bring 

for lunch. 

__________________

¹ Chive pockets