Currants

You have to smile

At the fact they're

Called GF oats

On the bag

 

You don't have to smile

I do

I didn't call you

My girlfriend

 

I did

Make us oatmeal though

And it took a pandemic

To learn how

 

I watched the salt dissolve

The apple lose shape

The oats start to mush

The butter smother all this

 

I decorated the bowls

The way we liked

With yogurt and peanut butter and jelly

With almonds or walnuts, honey or maple syrup

 

Until we had to trust

The oatmeal was down there

And I did

And I do

 

As I sort the difference

Between a half-recipe

And a recipe

For a single serving

 

On the bag

Which I don't consult

Except for writing poems

Each ingredient is reduced by half

 

Except for the salt

Which goes from something measurable

To a pinch

Which is its own precision

 

Of this body my body

Standing over the stove

Watching oatmeal cook

With new currants

 

Dispersed alongside the apple

But unlike the apple

Instead of losing shape

The currants are trying to re-form