I Go to the Kitchen to Make Amends

a quarter stick of butter

becomes a blur in the pan

dusted short ribs pop,

glisten, in a mélange of fat

then sear for what I said to him

something about less routine,

used a word I shouldn’t —

predictable, add salt, let

impatience simmer under

a slow flame, the lower heat

and time relaxes collagen,

tough connective tissue

in meat will soon melt

on his tongue, taste better

than my words, pungent,

prickly like jackfruit. I smooth

things over with the back

of my spoon, make a well

in polenta for gravy that puddles,

for this I am forgiven.

M.L. Hedison is an emerging poet based in the coastal town of Wakefield, R.I. Published for the first time in 2025, her work has appeared in SWWIM, ONE ART, Right Hand Pointing, Westchester Review, and is forthcoming in The Cimarron Review and CALYX. mlhedisonpoetry.com