We Make Chia Pudding

And it ain’t half bad either with a little bit

of honey and your sticky hand reaching

around the wide waist of a thick glass jar.

This, too, takes hours, expansion, and cream.

This is just to say, I want to have and to hold

the fridge door open for a damn good reason:

we watch as the chia seeds undress

into their full selves, completely submerged.

A seed is a body without armor. It opens

to new touch, emerges out of savory metamorphosis

knowing better its own slipperiness of self.

Of course, the white and black of the matter

is altogether less, shall we say, overdone.

Look at how unbuckled the black ones

seem in the arms of the other. But if we’re

gonna do this, we may as well do it up right:

dice a colored peach into raw wet bits

of flesh with the skin on, swallow everything

we set before us whole.