OSI: Fool's Paradise

Once upon a time,

the food was poetry.

The chili was thick gravy,

spread like summer on

my tongue.

The tortillas were pressed

by the hands of a woman

that knew what it was

to love.

I sat next to a man

I had torn in two,

and asked who would get the

table and the chairs.

Now, the tortillas are fakes

that come wrapped in foil.

The chili is salsa

from a jar.

The busboy presses his hands

to his face.

I sit across from a man

who holds my hand

when I tell him

how I miss my father.

He holds my hand

and all the conversational

pauses

are just places

for my heart

to stop.

More OSI: HERE