published in Volume 4, Issue 3 on December 31st, 1997
In spritzer it wiggles, dives in
with tofu stir-fry to leave a sting,
a sushi roll, ginger stamps its taste on the rice and fish,
but I love it most of all in gingerbread;
how it rides
my cheek with minerals of sugar,
my tongue and gums with a zesty imprint.
When I attempt to extricate ginger crumbs from a molar with my fingernail, it
clasps my tongue with aftertaste.
Even sips of tea or swigs of milk
the ring of ginger like a woolen coat
on the first chilly day of autumn,
reminding me of my own heat.
The wilted thumb of ginger root is
pathetic and flaking
with psoriasis, but peeled, it rises
like an ocean of razors.
One wing of ginger
hurries the paté,
in gelatin with a dance, but
a single slice from that stringy knot alone between my teeth
strops my lip