“How long will I live?” This is grace.
My signature scoops the meat of the paper.
So food is only synecdoche
in the company of the gods.
I shove it all together and just start cooking.
Dinner is ready around noon.
I yank it from the oven and it looks like this.
I suggest you remember everything is luck
like not breaking yolks and be careful
moving the water.
Tomorrow it is time for us to move out,
and from the light we don’t yet understand,
Where do we go now? Where do we pray?
How do we cry? What do we do
with all this light? That said, the meal began.
Adam Ai is a Puerto Rican and Basque poet and U.S. Army veteran from Los Angeles. His poems have been published in various print and online publications. He lives with a Ghost. Hobbies include time travel and teaching robots to love. Connect with him on Twitter and Instagram: @AdamAiPoems.