Imagine (for Margaret Atwood)

by Carra Leah Hood

Imagine a piece of bread.
Imagine a pat of butter and three slices of tomato.
Imagine a glass half full of rose
a red lipstick stain
a twist of lemon
a hand resting on yours.

Imagine an uneaten apple and a bowl of popcorn.
Imagine a bow slowly pulling an open D string.
Imagine you can’t hear it.
Imagine you don’t want to hear it.
Imagine a wine glass, empty except
for a twist peppered
with sediment or,
sentiment.

Imagine a shot.
Imagine you fall.
Imagine you split in two,
sputtering blood like watermelon seeds.
Imagine you can’t talk.
Imagine you want to.

Another shot.
A wine glass shatters.
Bread drips blood like butter.
A hand tastes your mouth.
Imagine, you can’t taste it back.