Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Oui, Chef

I would do anything
for a man in toque blanche
imperious Doge
impish chagrin imprints
peers down from the past

trip into him I fell from
New York a long way to Spain
and found France
in a man, oh, he cooks
when I’m there, dozens of visits

by the years, how I long
not for the man but his youth
double-breasted soft lips
buttoned up in smirk
long before he bent
me over in lifts
up and down

my chef in old flesh still cooking
afar, the photo so close, I notice
a mark, black and round,
the Marilyn mouche high on his cheek,
where did it fly? where has it gone?
Chef told me once: it never was there.
I drew it on.


sarahkSarah Key has had poems published in Poet Lore, Naugatuck River Review, and Enizagam. She has studied at Cave Canem with Eduardo Corral and in master workshops with Sharon Dolin and others. Currently, she has seven essays on The Huffington Post. Her blogspot at The Huffington Post is here.


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