Tom Kha Tofu

I once scried Tom Hanks in a bowl of Tom Kha Tofu soup

& not in a ‘wow, that lemongrass is taking shape

of Tom Hanks’ kind eyes!’ kind of way,

or in a way that projected some flavor onto

the tofu;

No, my lover’s past was in that bowl,

wholesome, unkind personal truths & perceived failures,

accompanied by soggy mushrooms and

pleasurable shame

and his present, full-bodiment of a

‘bad actor’ at life, seeing-red

flecks of red curry paste

and

me seeing him in

rose-colored glasses

coconut milk skin

entwined together

a Sapporo and lime life

with one another

I wonder if God sees the future in the light reflections of the ocean

I wonder if I’m forgiven for confusing Tom Waits with Tom Hanks

I wonder if the shallots will make me cry if I dive into

what’s in front of me

Life’s a fucking fusion

of disappointment, love, acceptance,

and the unknown

So I dig my toes into the (lemon)grass because

this is what I think it means to be grounded