Taylor Lagyak

Cooking is Sexy or I Just Really Want Pasta

When you kneaded me
into this soft dough
that you held in your hands,
I felt as if I could melt
through your fingers.

It was the intimacy of
connection on the countertop,
the pounding of your palm
against my soft skin
until you cut me into slivers
and chucked me into the pot.

The boiling water blistered my skin,
and I sat there in the heat
without even a stir
to show your attentiveness.

I may call out in gurgles
to anyone who may pass –
just for a stir,
so I can get my sticky self
out of this pot.

Ignored and stuck to this wretched steel,
someone comes along and
adds a dash of oil
that clings to my skin;
they add an ocean’s worth of salt
that licks my body.
They spring me from the
bubbles that left me al dente
and dished me up
like a model waiting for film.
And they taste me,
make me feel as if
all this torture was worth it
so I could taste delicious for someone else.

You could still have a taste,
but I wish you were the one
holding that spoon. 
 

Taylor Lagyak is a mother and a published poet residing in Harrisburg. She has published her debut poetry collection, Twenty and Pregnant. She performs her poetry with The Blacklisted Poets of Harrisburg.