Recipe; The I of the Hurricane - April 10

Recipe:
Bourbon Sweet Tea:
4 fingers of bourbon
half a lemon
shot of maple syrup
hot water, fill to taste

Poem:
The I of the Hurricane

Pink moon rising over line-etched woods,
rickets and antiques,
new paint, new carpet, new season.

This future to hold to your hopes,
the heart of your manners;
thick dreams of becoming, broken by
stints of insomnia.

I don’t care if any story you’ve ever told me is true,
I don’t care about what you studied or why,
I don’t care who you voted for,
I don’t care what mythology you tie your birthday to to take comfort in an inevitable future,
I don’t care about where you’ve been or what you did there,
I don’t care about how many anything you own or what you did to get it,
I don’t care about your ambitions,
I don’t care about your credentials,
I don’t care about who said what to who in order to make you feel like what,
I don’t care if you own a cat, or if you consider yourself its ‘caretaker with opposable thumbs,’
I don’t care how old you are,
I don’t care about your five year plan,
All I care about is whether you can look me in the eye and hold my gaze, and keep holding it well after your discomfort has come and gone, and if you can nod your head slowly, and without saying a single vocalized word, be real.

Come on baby, light my fire.