Clouds like black bean soup's froth
boiling over, boiling down
the sides of a Teflon pot,
all air and vapor:
my mood, the same froth and burn,
water heated over a stove top,
vapor aching to scald someone's palm.
Red lentils curried and pressure cooking,
spices strong enough so my eyes tear up.
I eat nothing else for weeks:
red lentils with ginger, cinnamon, turmeric,
garlic, pepper, cumin, and all
such curry flavors and scents to cleanse the air
and sinuses, add just enough
nostalgia to the night that my room
is darker as I stretch out on my bed:
that trip to Sri Lanka,
India, even Egypt, but today I'm in PA
and you are nowhere, dead.
Outside, air, rain, and sleet, always.