Cashew by Tricia Marcella Cimera

Cashew

The old man at my door
hands me the bag of Chinese food,
quietly wishes me good luck.
I eat my egg roll, then
open the cashew chicken.
Where are the cashews,
I mutter darkly, as I push
fat pieces of pepper around.
I find exactly eight nuts.
They’re big but I want more.
Afterwards, I crack my cookie,
study the fortune inside. You will
find what you are looking for
it says. Ha I say. My cat stares
with his cryptic white face.
Later that evening I sleep
deeply. I don’t see the moon
curved like a cashew in the sky,
smiling down at me; I don’t
see my cat dancing dreamily
in its pale light before coming to
sit beside me, how he raises his paw
like those little statues, whispers
good luck. . .

by Tricia Marcella Cimera

Editor’s Note: This poem’s narrative voice is a delight because it is so real, right up until the dreamlike conclusion.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.