La Tourtière les Français tourtière sits on the table floating in fathoms of waving oven heat festive Christmas lights twinkle against the dark Soul of this house I have a shaker of white vinegar poised at my left elbow, and a tin of sea salt the scent they make together intoxicates the late afternoon the glass of red wine in my fist takes care of all the loose ends the old man with the caged head sleeps in a chair with his belt loosened his gut stuffed with la tourtière that he was fed at noon with his tea and honey a Fats Domino record spins anciently sending up concentric rings of music smooth dark and satiny rich as coffee I have an old friend on the way and the scent of the Woman last night wavering through my body and brain la tourtière is golden brown, it waits, proud as though it had a mortal Soul son coeur bat à lintérieur du Français
Posted on: Sat, 27 Dec 2014 22:47:25 +0000
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