Poetry
Natasha Kochicheril Moni

The poet with her shirt
off, again, boils
water for hot cereal she will eat

in her bra. And apple. A pink lady,
she slices, blanches,
adds to the sugar

oats whose only redeemer
is the organic seal.
Maybe you wanted her

in black
lace, a clove,
an espresso dripping

from lips.
She is here
to tell you she keeps

the door shut,
her favorite utensil
is a spoon, that only once

when she burned
the wood too bright
did she throb naked outside.

Here, the cats she keeps
on china, a cooling
tea beside milk sweets,

two tablets of vitamin C
and this
letter from you,

a stranger, sent to
the wrong woman
with the same full name.

Natasha Kochicheril Moni, a recent editor/publisher of Crab Creek Review, currently writes and resides in the Bay Area. Three of her poetry manuscripts were named semi-finalists in Black Lawrence Press competitions. Her work regularly appears in journals including: Indiana Review, Verse, Rattle, and Diagram. E-mail: natashamoni[at]yahoo.com