Ghosts

 

 

Because love could not hold its body

last night I cooked with someone else.

 

I stood in your place and remembered

your back as you grated squash and nutmeg

to please me with fresh soup.

 

He bought a bottle of strong

balsamic vinegar from Italy

and we laughed at its long and phallic top.

 

I played the ghost of you

who once taught me so patiently

to cook garlic until transparent.

 

He and I opened red wine

as if we were familiar and on a whim

poured it into our dressing.

 

You always worked frantically

as if the right spice

was the only way to reach me.

 

He barely touched my back

while we cooked but I felt

an intimacy in eating.

 

He and I worked slowly

though we were hungry.

 

Dara Barnat is a doctoral candidate in the Department of English and American Studies at Tel Aviv University, where she also teaches poetry and creative writing. Her work has been published in Arc, and is forthcoming in Poetalk. In the summer of 2007 she is traveling to teach at the Nyaka School in Uganda, Africa.