IN A KITCHEN WITHOUT WINDOWS
My priestess fries her perfect
eggs-in-a-nest: a seeping well,
saturating seams of crust.
Her non-stick pan steaming like
the hot-side of an iron,
sticky in the finger’s fold.
Sweltering house smells of sweat,
warm oil in her sunned scalp.
Fresh-ground pepper sticks to yolk
oozing over Jewish Rye.