Food and Culture at Raven
Cleaning Out the Fridge
by Martha Silano
Mornings a white-fleshed peach, noon the illustrious
all Syrah and chardonnay, but now you’re home and must face it—
a year’s worth of sticky, globby, dripping maple syrup, of olives swirling
in churned up seaweed, of the great many weeks of thawing thigh leakage.
Your time to fill a silver pot with vinegar and suds, unwrap the cantaloupe
with lichen, miniature marshmallows, your time the shriveled nectarine
like an old, old man, his boring stories no one wants to hear, not even the
swimming in beer. On your knees, you could say you’re visiting
Amy and Lou, who left their barbeque sauce on the door then moved to Tempe.
Staring down the peanut butter smears, you’re back with Wes,
owner of the watermelon seed in the far left corner. What about this hated
do you hate most? Emptying half empty bottles of flattened tonic,
or finding the sliver of carefully wrapped sliced turkey slipped beneath the
long before we were even thinking of turned-back clocks?
Coming across the jar of Brewer’s yeast you said you’d judiciously,
each morning, or the precious unused bottle of flax oil gone way, way past
past-due? Your son shoots by, shooting Windex all over the little bit
not rotten, not annoyingly, stubbornly, gunked.
You take this as your answer.