Making Curry

There is steam in the kitchen,
You stir the curry,
Spices and onion frying in oil,
Your wooden spoon slicing through the coconut milk,
Dipping in and sideways making small waves,
Your hand bent slightly at the wrist,
Your index finger extended,
And I am mesmerized, distracted by this motion.

I quarter a sweet potato,
Peeling it first,
Because I want to feel the skin curl off tenderly,
Falling in orange and brown curls,
I hold the potato and slice,
Accidentally slipping the knife into my skin,
Opening a cut on my right finger all suddenly bloody,
I bring the finger to my mouth and suck,
You look up from the curry – watching me now.

The waves have caught up with me,
I smear blood over my lips while glancing up,
Head lowered slightly,
Cutting my eyes at you,
Looking up like I’m on my knees and you are in my mouth,
I taste the steam of curry and blood rolling over my tongue,
You lay the spoon down to hold my hand,
My finger passing through your lips,
Inside your mouth.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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1 Response to Making Curry

  1. poeticgrin says:

    God, now I’m hungry…


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