There was an instinct in her touch I tried
to imitate — I let one hand follow
the other into the flesh of the dough,
like a baby kneading in its mother’s side
before it curves close to a dream of milk.
She rolled the dough more flexible than cloth,
as if it weren’t our dinner but something soft
to hug against the skin, a piece of silk
that’s slept beneath. Then she held a water glass,
pressing its mouth into the countertop,
pale flourings of O’s. She always stopped
to cradle each within her palm, a last
moment (open, unfilled) before she spooned
the meat inside and sealed the crescent moon.
From “The Hardship Post” (Three Candles Press, 2009; rereleased by Sundress Publications, 2013). Jehanne Dubrow is the author of five poetry collections, including most recently “The Arranged Marriage” (University of New Mexico Press, 2015), “Red Army Red” (Northwestern University Press, 2012) and “Stateside” (Northwestern University Press, 2010).
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