I am taking forever and ever to eat my yogurt. The creamy substance is something to stir and stir with my teaspoon until homogenized and then remove gently with my mouth, using no teeth, only tongue and lips.

The pomegranate seeds are a bitter, crunchy counterpoint. Still, we must bear the unpalatable in order to be more present during the blissful — even if it is, in this case, bacteria that somehow rivals Reddi Wip

With the yogurt, the bottom of the cup is something to scrape and scrape — the spoon something to leave in my mouth as a I carry the cup to the kitchen and drop it into the trash, comforted by the thought of another and then another waiting in the fridge to be eaten.

Ms. Nancy’s perfume meant homework, a big jar of glue and loose leaf scored with a ruler on the folds. Threats of adhesive in the mouth to punish a blue tongue. Crimson checks and the blunders specified with crisscross marks.

Ms. Nancy’s perfume smelled like the front office and phones, notices to home and the executive nun’s pressed cotton tunic and veil. The carbon monoxide fumes during the trip to school. The churning of my stomach in her classroom.

this is that building where half the city lives / count all of those windows and just the one tree / out in front with just as many branches and twigs