Poem With Ginger In It
By Amit Majmudar
This rough hooked lump, this botched
antler of a dwarf moose,
this half-melted candelabrum
when skinned and cut
is clean and bright—
sun yellow, in cross section.
Wok full of broccoli,
forkful of forest fire:
Radicle incendiary, light me up.
Strip the paint off my throat
so that for two days, swallowing
my spit will feel like strep.
I love the pharyngeal singe.
I love the medicinal pain
that switches on a siren in my brain
and makes me pay attention
to my food.
Pepper is tepid,
cinnamon impotent.
Galangal, begone,
I’m on a binge—
it’s the heat in my chai,
the kick in my Moscow Mule,
my game-changer,
game-winner,
my aspirin, my acid, my fire in winter,
my pinch of Punjab, my ginger.
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My Monday was very quiet after my busy weekend. It involved holiday-related chores, laundry, and sorting photos while watching the Myrtle Beach Bowl which UConn unfortunately did not manage to win or even play competitively, plus trying to make Pokemon Go friends for Vivillon gifts.
We just caught up on the season finale of LEGO Masters, which did not go the way I expected after most of the season but for once it wasn't all white boys winning. Then we watched the end of the Packers victory over the Rams. Some of the animals we saw at the Maryland Zoo Lights:
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