There's a social media account I follow—perhaps you've seen it too?—of perfectly symmetrical meals prepared daily by a man and his partner. They've lived in various locations in the modern world: China, Italy, maybe England or Spain. Edges of serving plates form the border or the hinge beyond which the image is supposed to translate exactly the same, only in reverse— north to south, or east to west. Soft-boiled eggs in identical cups, a red puddle of roasted pepper and walnut sauce next to the heel of a baguette. Pleated dumplings blushing pink under their skins, two precise scallion slivers balanced on their heads. The heavy damask napkins are pushed into the same soft valley folds: so white, where not a doe or fox has left any wayward tracks or spoor. And I marvel at how much effort must go into these designs of a world where, seemingly, no mouth goes without; and everything one wants or has is exactly what the other expects to get.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.