the way you make popcorn

over the flame you place
a pot with kernels
and a slapdash handful
of oil, shut the lid.

then you listen,
for the gentle flicking open
an expression of heat
contained.
there is always the possibility
the clean yellow corn
overflows
the lid puffing out smoke
like your last most desperate
cigarette,
but either way
it comes out perfect,
we know this
as you pour it
into the large bowl.

you pinch salt, and spread it
turning the popcorn in your hands
like a child
turning clay
in joyful abundance

memorial day

it was getting dark
and you were telling the group
about how the little mermaid
gave up not only her voice
for a chance at love with the prince
but that every new step she'd take
would feel like ten
thousand knives stabbing her
and still she did it
to attend the ball or dance or dinner
and when the prince chose another
the little mermaid threw herself into the sea
and did not become the ocean foam like her mermaid kind
but went up to heaven
in that alien body

you told the story
like dying as the foam of the sea
meant something to you
and i wanted to kiss you
without the others
listening