“
Now reading
We Make Chia Pudding
And it ain’t half bad either with a little bit of honey and your sticky hand reaching around the wide waist of a thick glass jar. This, too, takes hours, expansion, and cream. This is just to say, I want to have and to hold the fridge door open for a damn good reason: we watch as the chia seeds undress into their full selves, completely submerged. A seed is a body without armor. It opens to new touch, emerges out of savory metamorphosis knowing better its own slipperiness of self. Of course, the white and black of the matter is altogether less, shall we say, overdone. Look at how unbuckled the black ones seem in the arms of the other. But if we’re gonna do this, we may as well do it up right: dice a colored peach into raw wet bits of flesh with the skin on, swallow everything we set before us whole.