Pearl & Ash
I am more than dried Artemisia
in wooden compartments.
I am fluent in spices, and he is
fluent in hardwood floors.
Low light complements
the thrum beyond our table,
the evening warming up.
As he tells me what he has held
his mouth reminds me of pears,
a tangle of trees in the window.
He asks for more water,
skirts the steak poached for days.
We await the sweetness of fish,
pluck of bones as the bottles
throb with chilies and ginger.
His breath is caramelized.
I finally feed him,
wildly tender and tea-cured.
Diana Keren Lee has lived in Austin, New York, and Los Angeles. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Painted Bride Quarterly, The Atlas Review, Prelude, No Tokens, and TINGE, among other journals. She has received fellowships from NYU and The MacDowell Colony.