Alera Ojomoh Dermody

Mandoline

Mm come close, food still on my tongue as I sleep
I am eating so good again, Dear Reader
 
Soft glossed waves of burnt sugar. Water.
Careful, slow, slower. Yes.
Crystalline into dissolved tanned sweetness, pour
 
Meaning my thighs are touching again, praise God
Pressed together like palms at house church or a closed
 
salted orange pistachio mixture, blend the 60 grit to a wet
 
mouth
Yes Lord, incense kissed to your ear
 
I am singing like Phife
And yes, sometimes I am toothless
Knocking my gums praying for the sounds of  bone crack, a drip of pennies
 
smooth praline. Let harden.
 
Afterall, a tongue sometimes wants to toil softness
 
I am gifting my throat refuge from stone offerings
My hungry breathing, a type of measure
Adorn myself with slick wine tattooed smiles from plastic white cups
 
Shatter cooled mixture into disparate cathedrals. Set aside.
 
It always goes to blood and food for me
 
Give me the good chocolate– I’m hoping hip dips
Will trap someone who is so sorry and quiet and never home
When weekends come,
 I’ll cage them between my thighs like a small bird, feed them sparingly
 
Slice blood orange. Repetition.
Careful; a mandolin, nicked palms.
 
So to not grow too big for their cage
 
Sift cocoa into batter. Bake. Let rest.
 
I baked a cake and ate the whole three layer mess of it, thin slices at a time
And I am having, like, the best day since Jesus invented the calendar
And you know how the heart works

Spread cool chocolate ganache.
Garnish with blood orange, shards of praline. Salt.
 
Sometimes there’s just no time for a plate
Every new slice I cock my head back and cackle
Summon rain
Summon you to sit, yes you
child, gold flaked and humming
 
These long days I allow turning towards a body as a type of soil
I take my soft belly and pat like I would my mother’s and my grandmother’s
Want often hidden by loose fitted cloth, at home bare and a fixture
Press my ear to its earth
Hear its shifting
And whisper I love you I love you I love you I love you back


Alera Ojomoh Dermody is a queer Nigerian-American baker, student, and poet living in San Diego. She interested in community foodways, queerness, blackness, and softness. She is pending publication, and relatively new to publishing but has loved writing and constructing stories since she was a child.