Heaven is a bowl of apple slices

laced with spices
cinnamon and nutmeg juices sinking
It’s the cold and hot fats
the baking boiling simmering
thickening richness of the earth

Hell is in the timers
the heady clockwork world
feasting away
above a stomach laced with anxiety
away from the table
set with pretty red napkins
and all that rests
on the rest of the night
those countless stores of expectation

Glorious silence hangs in between worlds
for, here, at least the tongue is mute
and hands are busy
there can’t be too much noise
following recipe after recipe

Virendra Goolcharan
Vernon, NJ