Making Sushi
You are my bed of sticky rice,
the one I’ve pressed into a sheet of ocean.
Pieces of you cling to me—
even those I would rather live without.
I lay my vulnerable parts on you,
my avocado flesh,
the fish that swim in me.
My firm, earthy parts—
slivers of carrot standing tall and sure,
spiny slices of red pepper
with their curly tops shorn,
stand at attention like soldiers,
yield loud, bold crunches.
I roll myself up in you tightly,
the way we spoon together
in bed with sheets of dreams.
Cut us into small, neat pieces
we pick up with wooden sticks,
dip in our essence—salty-sweet sauce.
We savor bites,
with wide eyes,
wrapped up in each other.
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Miriam Manglani lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband and three children. She graduated with a degree in English from Brandeis University and works full-time as a Technical Training Manager. She is the author of the poetry book Invisible Lines published by Kelsay Books and the poetry chapbook Ordinary Wonders published by Prolific Press. Her poems have been published in various magazines and journals including Sparks of Calliope, ONE ART, Glacial Hills Review, and Paterson Literary Review. Read her published work on her website: miriammanglani.com
