Offering
No matter that he shouldn’t,
that the doctor has already told him where this has led,
where this is leading (we already know),
still he leans over the stove, one hand bracing
against the counter—he leans like a building
grazed by the wrecking ball.
Still he’ll heat the bacon grease
for the gravy, gloss the butter over the top
of the cornbread, grate ribbons of cheddars
and mozzarellas for the mac and cheese. And though
he’ll carve the chicken perhaps a bit too carelessly,
as his thumb twitches so close to the knife’s
inclination, tender, tenderly, he’ll rest
the bird into the oil, so gently that even it wouldn’t
complain, could it.
Though beads of grease spring and somersault
over the burners so close to the hand, the arms
scarred brown in sloppy patchwork; though
the swollen legs, the aching back nearly give
as he peeks through the oven door; though
he has made too much, too late, in this kitchen
for himself; though he may falter once, only once, before
he brings the fork to his mouth, still he does, and again,
and again; though the cluttered countertops, the sink full
of dishes, the empty plate, the knife blade, the fork tines, all
messied with intention, seem to say, Look how you’ve hungered;
though he hasn’t, though he isn’t, he will eat.
Maya Phillips was born and raised in New York. Maya received her BFA from Emerson College and her MFA in poetry from Warren Wilson’s MFA Program for Writers. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in At Length, BOAAT, Ghost Proposal, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and more, and her arts and entertainment journalism has appeared in The New York Times, Vulture, and American Theatre, among others. Her debut poetry collection Erou is forthcoming in fall 2019 from Four Way Books. Maya currently works as the associate content editor and producer at the Academy of American Poets and as a freelance writer. She lives in Brooklyn.