Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Italian Carnival Bread

We lied about the crusts I was trying to fry with tomato sauce and garlic.
Kitchen physics, the awry lie dodging what cannot ever be done with bread.
Italian carnival bread, we told her. For the festival of the pig.
Our misogyny erupting from the crevices of the sofa,
like the mould and maggots of the following summer. 
Waving away the Bean Feast,
mansplaining what should have been unmansplainable.

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