“Savoring the Meal” by Amy Wray Irish
Wielding a vivid simile
the poet curdles listeners’ hunger to disgust
when she lovingly describes
the baguette slit open at the counter
as a long, slim fish, fresh caught.
She twists it in the imagined fisherman’s grip
who cuts with a practiced flick of the wrist.
In the flash of that knife, the catch—
somehow both flesh and bread—
is killed and freed of entrails, ready to be eaten.
As so-called friends flee the scene, the poet
realizes what some refuse
sees that some will not seek
to swim those currents, taste
those meals offered beneath the surface.
They do not need to drink of other worlds
flowing clear and sweet and just below.
In fact, few hunger like her to enter
that stream, slide slowly through cool water
waiting to grasp the slippery scales.
Few smile at the gleaming secrets cut open,
exposed. Few dare to take a bite.
About Amy Wray Irish
She/Her/Hers
Amy Wray Irish grew up near Chicago, received her MFA from the University of Notre Dame, and now resides in the foothills of Colorado. Her recent work can be found in local anthologies like Chiaroscuro (Northern Colorado Writers); national journals like Stone Gathering (Danielle Dufy Publishing); and online journals like Twenty Bellows (twentybellowslit.com). Irish’s third chapbook, Breathing Fire, won the 2020 Fledge Competition and was published by Middle Creek Press in 2021. To read more of her work, go to amywrayirish.com.
Breathing Fire from Middle Creek Publishing: https://www.middlecreekpublishing.com/breathing-fire