literature

Noodle Time

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ShannaBanan-o-rama's avatar
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Literature Text

Her hand dips in a cyclic motion, lifting a clutch of slippery noodles
To her partially opened mouth.
9:05; she’s right on schedule,
wielding her chopsticks Mantis style.

Turning from her,
I bite my cheek: self injury in the pursuit of peace.
The oily whistle of each noodle
Berates my dwindling patience.


She removes them one by one
First, wrapping it with her tongue
Then drawing it in with slurp.


She licks her chopsticks, and again dives the pile of chow mien
Retrieve and return,
she paces each bite with the hand of a practiced samurai.

The sound of her eating is broken by the
Scraping of ceramic.
She has hit the bottom of that endless bowl.
I let a sigh, knowing that soon
The sticks will be put away,
And her mouth will stay closed.

The sound of slurping broth escapes me though.
I return to her, meeting my roommate’s stare.
My mouth melts into a solid crease as she asks if she is bothering me.
No, I find myself saying.

Why would it bother me?
One of the first poems assigned in my intro to creative writing class. Still too flowery, in my opinion. Looking at some of my more recent works, I'm impressed at how much the class helped XD


Based on a friday night study session.
© 2009 - 2024 ShannaBanan-o-rama
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