A Poem That's Not About Eating

A Poem That's Not About Eating

by Carly Sachs

It should be easy
because you're a poet, you say,
sliding the chopsticks
between my thumb and forefinger.
Like this, you say, as you navigate
your noodles.
I try pretending
they're a pen and my plate
is a poem,
but they're wooden
and I'm getting splinters
just thinking about eating
lunch at a sushi bar
where I had to order
in German,
and you say it's alright,
while I slide rice around,
dropping broccoli on its head,
tripping over baby corn,
stabbing peas when I aimed for carrots,
and you laugh at how foreign I am.
You'll get used to it,
you say.
You'll get used to it.