Itinerary | Sharon Lattig

It is the charm of mise en place, of first 
ingredients that conditions this

one shutter bent, glass without, herbs
potted on it, the window one has 

the second trip, that November, mattered

	(setting out before dawn, weather content
	in love, as it happens—bound

      1.    to replace—place, allocate
 sun at moment’s hinge, expose it
 as it withers there

      2.    to bind were we ever
 compile coordinates
 trust these

     3.4    a flinty purpose
  resolve’s centripetal origin
  the occasional purple, blurred

 these routines

       1.   unwriting the weather to come


On the fifth visit, bags packed, bellowed back in
homage to a day for making lunch

the marchée trove—dates 
(unpitted), camembert (soft), leeks 
(seven), sun on leeks—askew, quantities
doomed 

to crave—having always wanted to permit 
desire to wend (rechristen), having always 
wanted to look forward, through the rubble 
of extant I’ll’s, past the terraced contour 
of a revisionist’s sinew

the arch intact, having found its ends, will want 
to leave

a bowl—discomposed—as if
into change the plum itself were speckled 
perfect—a memory without 
the grave, still 
life

to have never traveled 
to possibly have
(these one or the same)

a cuisine becomes its directions, re-read before 
written, palatable, perhaps, to ask
	
which cloth, shrunken, frayed with age 
makes correspond tattered, an omen of apportioned 
pain, alters Henry to Henri?

who is to decide suffice, tock it off on flippant 
course, endorse act’s intermission?

sing it is as if it was 
uprooting the sage one doesn’t gather

a list begs to do
the table is a setting—
lunch cleared away—
this, an afternoon
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