Suzuki Red Pasta

almost didn't get cooked

a tin can of deep dark pining

seething and swelling

tiny bombs and bubbles

waiting years to explode

plunge into a chalice

a grand unveiling of a downpour

finally, found an opener

I bottled up this rich velvet tide

for home, in a glass jar

capped the colour of my wispy blue soul

but the clearing has begun—

first a goodbye letter

then a bold, soaring toss

of your painted face

and now, eating

this blood red gravy of grace

for dinner