Volume Three, Issue 3

Darryl Wawa

Grocery store blues Vol 1:

‘What’s the name of
the word for the precise
moment when you realize
that you’ve actually forgotten
how it felt to make love
to somebody you really
liked a long time
Delirium, from Sandman 43 p.7

When you see someone from long ago
at the grocery store
and just now realize how much
you had it for her
be curious

The sight woke you up
Her husband and son
a universe, both distant
and tender that had you envying
and not

Anguish followed
a plague of ‘what ifs’
so you said: “Whatever”
and proceeded through the fruit isle

the sight is enough to let you know
you can imagine the rest:
she reminded me of a papaya
Her angry face impatient
a bursting orange
as she struggled to find
something in her purse
That’s what she looked like
birthmarks and all
like a squishy papaya
that could be fresh or sour
but tanguy

Were you to see her again
what would you say?
That’s another poem I guess
And that’s what it is
like that sticky slice of frozen pizza
while you watch a movie
that has you going back for more

Grocery store blues Vol 2:

At the grocery store
looking outside of myself
and seeing finality
possibilities that hadn’t shrunk
to fit my irises yet
Products like people
use and dispose
The baby in the shopping cart
sees a universe
with his lovely wandering eyes
The walls and boxes I see
tell me that one day he’ll know
his first gesture was a tear

From noon to moon
sensitive to each shiver
how much more weight
should this shopper push?
Our secret disgrace
our residual distress
right there in the meat section
packed for convenience
“When did the butcherman…”
“Way yonder,” she interrupts
“when someone gave a damn”
she continues, the voice in my head
keeping my imagination
buzzy with the words
on a box of Swiffer wipes

I guess cellphones help us forget
our need to dramatize
the NBA playoff highlights
at the tip of my fingers
right here at the grocery store
those tailored
and uninterrupted successful
dazzles Steph Curry makes
to spare the sight
of what is uneventful
without the burden
of overcommitting

The baby teaches me
how grocery shopping
can become a pass time
an art
the rush, only as real
as I make it
And then I get home and pack
my fridge full of groceries

Eros 8

Gas stove
fart smell
Strike a match
light it
I love that sucking sound
before the stove-head
puffs out flames
Put the pan, the butter
the seasoning, the steak. Stop
Thinking of grandma’s deserts
the taste of sweet. My grandmother’s pastries
and cakes. Vanilla frosting
at the corners of my mouth
from slices too big. Prune
filling. Rhum raisin
pineapple cake
the art she made of it
A meal without desert
is like a bad date.

Darryl Wawa: "I am a Port-au-Prince born Haitian-American who studied Photography and Creative writing. I enjoy chocolate and good books. That said, maybe a movie is a good book. I love to work with images and words and their pairing."

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