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I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast

Praise for I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast:

“Melissa Studdard’s high-flying, bold poetic language expresses an erotic appetite for the world: ‘this desire to butter and eat the stars,’ as she says, in words characteristically large yet domestic, ambitious yet chuckling at their own nerve. This poet’s ardent, winning ebullience echoes that of God, a recurring character here, who finds us Her children, splotchy, bawling and imperfect though we are, “flawless in her omniscient eyes.”

— Robert Pinsky

“In so many ways the poems in this book read like paintings, touching and absorbing the light of the known world while fingering the soul until it lifts, trembling. Gates splayed, bodies read as books, and hearts born of mouths, Studdard's study, which is a creation unto itself, would have no doubt pleased Neruda's taste for the alchemic impurity of poetry, which is, as we know, poetry that is not only most pure of heart, but beautifully generous in vision and feeling.”

— Cate Marvin

Some Poems:

I ATE THE COSMOS FOR BREAKFAST

— after Thich Nhat Hanh

It looked like a pancake,

but it was creation flattened out —

the fist of God on a head of wheat,

milk, the unborn child of an unsuspecting

chicken — all beaten to batter

and drizzled into a pan.

I brewed some tea and closed my eyes

while I ate the sun, the air, the rain,

photosynthesis on a plate.

I ate the time it took that chicken

to bear and lay her egg

and the energy a cow takes

to lactate a cup of milk.

I thought of the farmers, the truck drivers,

the grocers, the people

who made the bag that stored the wheat,

and my labor over the stove seemed short,

and the pancake tasted good,

and I was thankful.

WE ARE THE UNIVERSE

— inspired by the Eric Anfinson painting,

The Bravest Woman

Watching your mouth as you eat I think

perhaps an apple is the universe and your body

is an orchard full of trees. I’ve seen the way your leaves

cling to the ground in fall, and I noticed then

that your voice sounded soft, like feathered, drifting things

coming finally to rest. Note:

I was the core in your pink flesh. You

were hungry birds

and foxes walking though the miles of me.

You climbed, dug your nails in my bark, yanked

something loose. Don’t tell me what it is.

Just keep it close.

Because I planted these rows

and rows of myself for you —

so I could lick the juice from your lips,

so I could remember

how round and hot

the promise of seed. If I could find

that orchard right now, I’d run all through the rows

of you. I’d stand in the center and twirl

until, dizzy, I fell. I’d climb high and shake

until the only thing left in you was longing,

and you’d write a poem for me. You’d say:

Your mouth is the universe. Your desire

is an orchard full of trees.

  • Format
  • hardcover
  • Pages
  • 82
  • Language
  • english
  • ISBN
  • 9780988944756
  • Genres
  • poetry
  • Release date
  • 2014