Domestic Politics 

I have returned to noticing the light fixtures
and the gauzy light that surrounds them, 
which is a luxury that one can afford only
when they are oversexed
and drowsy. 

There are politicians fighting, 
news coming through a wire, 
but I am more interested in the smell of an armpit, 
the sweat of an onion
the soot of dried saliva, 
a hunk of bread. 

Presidents would not understand
the politics of a kitchen
or a bed
the graceful silence, the tender courtesy, 
the effects of the senses:
sturdy knife in hand, 
feeble wing on chest. 

The discourse of slicing, 
of benign intercourse or wounded light
happens not on paper but on
white cotton 
and countertops. 

We were given these bodies, 
this metal
these voices. 
I am grateful for choices but need nothing
other than this clove of garlic
this olive oil, 
this spoon. 

/// \\\ /// \\\ /// \\\

I have not read this poem since the last presidential election. It is brand new again. These words strike a chord, as does this wonderful photograph. Regrettably, I do not know the photographer (do you?), just the trail of pins and tumblrs, leading to nowhere. I considered the sloppiness of posting a photo without due credit, but decided it is worth it. Love! 

And while there are poems, have you been following Joanna's Fall Challenge series? Challenge #2: Memorize a poem. I love the part about "mental furniture." Some of my favorites poems: one, two, three


  1. That poem is beautifully stirring.
    I'm Canadian, but I've been following the American election news and debates. You guys are at a pivitol point in your country!

    Several of my favourite poems are by Frost.. I think I'm just drawn to his melodic style.

    1. Hi Melanie! I haven't read Frost since college, but I think it is time to revisit.


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