Sarah Bridgins


I cooked for you even when
you couldn’t eat.
When your body
kept breaking open
and trying to kill you,
I made a sludge
out of lentils and spinach
that was supposed to thicken
your blood,
prove my devotion.

Salmon en papillote,
chicken cacciatore,
Brussels sprouts with black rice.

Now that I’m alone,
I smoke Parliaments
drink 7-11 coffee,
call it lunch.
Buying real groceries
creates a dumb ache,
in a heart that’s so ripe
for your love
it feels rotted.

When a friend comes over,
I make lamb ragu with ricotta,
aware I have nothing to lose.
This could be the best
meal of their life,
and at the end of the night,
I already know
they will leave.

Sarah Bridgins is a writer and performer living in Brooklyn. Her poems have appeared in Sink Review, glitterMob, InDigest, Two Serious Ladies, NAP, and Thrush among other journals. You can find more of her work at