fried apples and fascism
April 22, 2012
she slices the apple off its core,
two. grates nutmeg, pours ginger beer
in. the carmelized ones taste most
like ginger.
eggs with green garlic and the house
heavy with paintings and cloth,
blue walls to bring water
into the place by her pillow.
I tell her everything. well,
almost. every room a reality
cloaked in color and
reminders, 35 years of life
here.
we talk of fascism over fried
apples and salmon, goat cheese
scramble. the state’s insanity
and blood oranges. mosaic of an artist’s
walls, Baldwin’s face and pain
ted fish, a granddaughter’s name,
an entire closet for white clothes.
© 2012 Tahminah Zaman
