After a Migraine

David Koehn

 

Peeled potato,

Backyard damp with rain.

 

Sliced fennel,

Concentric rings align

 

On the cutting board.

A wince of anise and the light

 

Of bitter lemon on the air.

Everything seems sharpened.

 

The weave and ochre weft

Underlies the Kilim.

 

A grid of linen blossom

Wallpaper, the graph of mauve

 

Kitchen tile, X.

Breathing this air

 

Brightens a net, Y.

Celery stalk strings

 

Curl beside the arc

Of an avocado pit

 

Toward my seamlessness, Z.

What pinch of garlic, bulb

 

Flattened under knife blade,

Lights sliced red bell

 

Pepper in a steel bowl?

Clockwork wheels of tomato

 

Seep a single seed

Aside crushed black pepper

 

Suspended in olive oil.

 

David Koehn (CA)  is a recipient of the Midnight Sun Chapbook Contest and has worked as a Breadloaf Rural Teacher Fellow. His writing has appeared in McSweeney's, Painted Bride Quarterly, Alaska Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. “After a Migraine” was previously published in New York Quarterly.


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