The Fire on the Stove Burns Blue
There are memories I stash away in the attics
of my mind, saving them for later, I guess,
or by aversion. As I am cooking dinner, waiting
for the water to boil, watching blue flames
of the burner licking up
underneath the silver pot, I wonder
who first discovered intentional evaporation.
I make a note in my head to write
a poem called ‘The Poetry of Science
as it Pertains to Dispelling Magic
and the Mystery of Life’. Suddenly,
as if I haven’t piled enough boxes
up over the door to the attics, my heart
twinges, the ghost of your face
appears, boiling to the surface
of the roiling soba noodles.