Gravy on a White Tablecloth

Gravy on a White Tablecloth

Mattingly A. Gerasimovich

I could have
added the sacrificial stock to the roux,
deglazed the pan with red wine,
and sweat the life from the onions.

Instead, I stretched
my lungs and inhaled the firmament
through my greedy nostrils
and felt how it encompassed me from inside out.

I could have
entombed her tiny hands in mine
as we bound the herbs and removed the heat,
finally scraping the substance into its boat.

Instead, I screamed
senselessly from my heart,
returning the firmament above
without apologizing for my disturbance.

Even though I was miles away
I may as well have
stung her hand with mine and
shattered the faux porcelain on the porch.

Even though I had never seen her
I may as well have
watched as she pricked her fingers
picking up the starchy shards
that now covered the white tablecloth.

The juices streaming down the linen
burned into the grooves of its fibers
that now guiltily connect us because of me.

---

Mattingly A. Gerasimovich
Poet & Student

Mattingly is a PhD student at Northwestern University studying Russian literature. In his free time, he co-hosts Tipsy Tolstoy Podcast. You can learn more about him at magerasimovich.com.

Photography by Kieran Sight