Published in Askew, Spring/Summer, 2010.
It’s 3 AM. On the way to the fridge I notice that our toaster has three settings: bagel, waffle and poetry. It is dark and quiet here in our Upper West Side kitchen. Sirens that never stop are silent. Of the city's 8 million I am the only one up. You continue to sleep as I grapple with the toaster poetry setting. When you finally wake I hope you will help me turn on the poetry toaster and together we will watch it work wonders. Then in the dim light of the open fridge door I see that the word is pastry. I lose my appetite. I return to bed, crawl in next to you, touch skin to skin, roll away and toss myself to sleep.