My Planet is a Potato

Cubed steak, boiled potato,
And of course something warm and green
On a wide plate the gold filigree of which
Shimmers under the soft filament light
In a scandalously turquoise kitchen
At the center of which is an oval
Faux marble Formica table...

There in the center of this long ago universe
A woman reaches across her plate to mine,
Presses down the lumps of softened potato
With her fork, dabs on a pat of butter,
Dashes salt and pepper, and presses again.
The soft flesh of her forearm shakes a little
And I can smell my grandmother's Chanel No. 5...

You can live on potatoes.
You can live on the heat for hours
While the slick, sweet butter
The color of the yellow light
Melts slowly in your mouth like a sacrament...

The sun is the center of one universe;
Butter is the center of mine.
My planet is a potato
At the end of the long arm of time
Spinning, lighting, warming memory,
Pressing goodness into my soul.