For the first time as I


by Philip Jenks



For the first time as I


cooked in the kitchen, I saw 


green light and the wisp of 


my mother’s savage solitude.




             Refusing all human contact,




her pure focus That invests 


an eye with the open and


shut of lids and doors.


No sound, just cigarettes in 


migrating monologue and


Now I’m 48 gambling in




To never equal. Please leave 


me be. I am cooking. There


is much left to be done.