ARTICHOKE PUREE
If we fuck now we’ll be late
for the ferry that’s waiting
to take us to dinner
later than we are since we lost
that hour to ice unraveling
in our G&Ts sipping
at each other’s chapped lips
maybe they’ll understand
if I explain it like that
if I explain that yesterday
my flight touched down late
then we missed that one metro
that funicular & since then
our internal chronometers
have run slow
*
But the scene
still needs to be set
at the Fløyen lookout
where you stopped & looked out
as if to say here is my city
its grave churches
the concert hall
with its architecture
like the innerworkings
of an enormous piano
here the painted dock houses
with their smell of salt
& stacked wood
the many islands dabbed west
like a representation of land
forming an understanding
of what it is to belong
among so much tourist tat
at the fish market
where someone yelled
the one cuss I know
in your language
my presence made you feel
that being home was like trying on
a jacket or soft hat
you’ve not worn for years
& finding they fit as before
a chorus folded & worn
on the lapel of a blue blazer
*
Perhaps if I can learn to wear
& duly explain the perpetual
lateness of us like that we can
finally step into the evening
& a passing stranger will remark
you two look great!
the ferry will wait because
they were after all expecting us
& the plates with their specks
& streaks of sauces will arrive
when they’re meant to
placed between us
the paper lantern & the glasses
brimming with cosmic light
