RECIPE FOR THE UPSWING

Cayenne pepper, paprika, and dried oregano live
in the alcove above the drone of the dishwasher;
sometimes, I hide there, too, mouth open
wide like the vault of the sky-blue sky,
precious in the way that blue things always are.

Corncobs, Glass Gems, a daughter—a daughter pretends
to sleep as time creates itself quietly around her.
We have been held in the same hospitals, she and I,
by the cold-handedness of extended hunger—
scalded and plucked clean to the endless changeful music
of the singing kettle.

Down there—down at the roots—
devouring light blooms like perspiration
between two clasped hands.
Down there, soft grass glows under
bare feet over electric earth.

Abigail Swoboda always keeps a piece of black obsidian on their person, just in case. They also write poetry and live in Philadelphia, PA. You can find them on their website abigailswoboda.com or on Twitter @orbigail or Instagram @honeymoonbeam.