HUMMINGBIRD SKETCHES by Evan Anders
Evan Anders
hummingbird sketches
iced ruby oolong—
hints of soothing baked pear, cedar, cacao, the miscarriage.
precarious masculinity drizzled upon lamb tikka masala
golden basmati rice, boisterous cumin, ginger, cordial turmeric.
there are fragments of you inside me
jubilant kachumber salad days, peshwari naan, pudina chutney,
single malt ginseng whiskey.
himalayan salt besprent smoked salmon.
avocado toast smeared with truffle butter,
truffle butter, mango jalapeño pepper jelly.
tragedy advances like all the prayers wasted—
jesus christ outstretched upon a toy crucifix accumulating dust
desiccated piers morgan feuds with himself over meghan markle
the president of the united states bombs syria
antiquated armament asphyxiates pristine sky
pope francis releases a dove amongst the antiquity of mosul,
a former isis stronghold.
we do not achieve
we bury our brothers and sisters
law enforcement condemn.
besieged, this flesh i prune devoid of mercy
the sphinx devours the ruin.
elizabeth stood in the kitchen a series of intricacies—
“i liked us better when i was drinking.”
“perhaps couples therapy is a healthy solution for our relationship?”
“i don’t have the capacity for this conversation.
everything you do is in your self-interest.
i’m not perfect either, but when i’m the only one trying,
it’s fucking exhausting.
you don’t understand reciprocity, only consequence. here’s your consequence,
after the pandemic, we are getting a divorce.”
“i thought we were trying for a baby?”
“i’m from florida. everything rusts. you’re an enthusiastic father, but i deserve
a fastidious lesbian who will teach me to knit.”
revolting into mundane delicacies—
cardamom-cinnamon milk chocolate, black turkish coffee
figs, figs, all summer, figs were plentiful.
i am a harvest of traditions.
bestowing locust to the deity
suckling upon my earlobe
the swarm is you and the mouth
shivers at last.
Evan Anders brews coffee for mass consumption in Philadelphia. His poems have appeared in North Dakota Quarterly, Chicago Quarterly Review, decomp journal, Michigan Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. He is a retired stay-at-home dad who thinks Bob Dylan was best in the eighties. Visit Evan online at his website.
Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #41.