by Lauren Bender
I am never going to stop
star cutting, he says,
palming sharp silver edges
into his filo dough
with a fair amount of force,
then lifting each paper-thin
shape for approval.
What isn't made better by
taking the form of a star?
He is a little known chef
with their characteristic
pulsing frustration, lines
quivering in groups across
his forehead. Slam, star,
slam, star, slam. Stars
tiered on the side of
the table, see-through
shrouds sticky with physics.
I will make filo boats,
says chef, boat baklava.
It has never been done.
I have always known how
to be good, to be original.
This art is poetry like
no poem has ever been poetry,
and these are lonely stars,
not even bound together
in their thick dark syrup yet.
Lauren Bender lives in Burlington, VT. Her work has appeared in IDK Magazine, The Collapsar, Gyroscope Review, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Yes Poetry, and others. You can find her on twitter @benderpoet.