My husband seasons a slab of meat. Beef or pork. I don’t pay attention to anything but my hunger. Lust bubbles to the surface like I am soup. The longer it simmers, the deeper the flavor. Imperfect carrots and wilted spinach disappears into the broth. Salt dissolves. Becomes liquid, tantalizing. Taste expands with the secrets of heat and time. The tongue waits. The teeth dream to do the work of teeth. The tearing they know to do without thought. It’s important to listen for the timer. To dive into the river. To turn off the heat before the flavor turns or the meat toughens. To sink into satedness. To leave the table satisfied.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Lacie Semenovich is a poet and fiction writer living in Cleveland, Ohio. Her work has appeared in B O D Y, Sheila-Na-Gig online, Qwerty, Chiron Review, and The Best Small Fictions 2020. She is the author of a chapbook, Legacies (as Lacie Clark, Finishing Line Press 2012).
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