By Lionel Newman
Before I finish a late dinner
at my folding card-table,
I wrap up in my old unwashed sweater,
thick and snug as a sponge
stained with patches
of red chili sauce and beer,
smells of sunflower oil
singed nights ago.
I gather the cold chicken bones on my plate
and show them to the egg
in its shell
before dumping them in the bin.
Still hungry,
I shuffle to the stove
and slowly remove the lid
one last time
to check that browning lobe of fat
still spitting praises for its home
in the frying pan.
I seal the lid tight
once more.
I’ll wait here
a while longer
in my old sweater.
Lionel Newman a Thai-American poet and neuroscientist currently based in Groningen, The Netherlands. As a meditation teacher and former ordained Buddhist monk, he is addicted to the peace he can’t find, so he writes to reconcile the desire to heal with the desire to fade away and the sweetness in both. In 2020 he was selected for the Dutch “Poets in de Prinsentuin” poetry festival and in 2019 he toured with Random Collision Dance Company performing improvised poetry. He received his B.A. in English at Northern Illinois University and is currently in the final stages of his Ph.D. in neuroscience at the University of Groningen.
Hot Pot Magazine 