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.