Remembering the Joy of a Sandwich
Before the Summer of Cyclospora

If sex were a sandwich
it would have to be a BLT.
Not just any BLT, but the one he
made for you simply because
you hadn’t tasted one in years.
Sharing a meal with him is
a religious experience, every
nibble a communion. Imagine
him frying up the bacon,
flipping it as you watch
pork fat     s   i   z   z   l   e     s   l   o   w.
And that intoxicating scent—
no confusing his umami tease.
He goldilocks the sourdough,
toasting it just right. Then he
slathers one slice with aioli
and fig jam on the other. You
watch his hands crack open
a head of iceberg lettuce
so cool & crisp you can taste it
calving as he slides a bite
into the ocean of your mouth.
And then, he gives you his big
tomato heart, tangy & sweet
with a touch of salt—that taste
you can’t get enough of. His taste
you never grow tired of, that
makes you sweat like it’s August
every month of the year.
Another perfect day to stay inside—
with or without a bed of lettuce.

*

Shawn Aveningo Sanders shares the creative life with her husband in Oregon, running The Poetry Box press. Her poems have recently appeared in Rattle, ONE ART, contemporary haibun online, Sheila-Na-Gig, Jackdaw Review, Gyroscope Review, and the award-winning anthology, Love Is for All of Us. Shawn is a multiple Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Touchstone Award nominee and has won prizes from the Oregon Poetry Association. Her newest book Pockets (MoonPath Press) was a finalist in Concrete Wolf’s Chapbook Contest. When not writing, find her shopping for a new pair of red shoes or toy dinosaurs for her granddaughter, RedShoePoet.com.