In a Kitchen Without Knives


An entire cauliflower

chopped into a bowl

of tiny teeth.


For my next trick—

a black hole,

and I see that


I may have been wrong.

Heaven is not a box

of tissues


screaming. It’s not

even the white kidskin

glove in the display case.


And hell is too obvious:

a rattle, a constant

ringing, an empty


or full ( )

a. syringe

b. can of meat


or the ten-foot wide

C-band satellite

in my aunt Viv’s yard.


From her kitchen,

I can see all of East Asia,

just not my own car


in the driveway.

Of course, these are not

the only choices.


How about

your mother’s hand

in the garbage


disposal, red

pouring down

all her fingers.


How about

the way she looks

at you, her lips


shaping the white

O in I’m OK

without sound.

Copyright © 1999-2018 Juked