2828 at 8282

This piece is a palindrome.
It's best read on a desktop or wide width screen to keep the lines in tact.
If you are mobile please read through this pdf or
listen to me read it
via SoundCloud (included in this post).

I grew up Seventh Day Adventist, meaning I’m forbidden from eating flesh that eats other flesh.

Religion curbed my teeth for years; pretended as if I didn’t own curiosity for crawfish because

the bible was a coaster for forbidden fruit approaching the shore of my lips. I lusted and

on my 28th birthday, my canines dug into a nori trophy with beads of tuna tartare. I inhaled.

I docked the coiled chip by my lips. The unfamiliar becomes acquainted. I was ecstatic that

8282’s blessing, tuna tartare adorned with accents of uni approached the foot of my cross.

The scales of kosher, the gills, fins and scales requirement— drifted in the sea of my memory.

All I know of this desire, originated in the folds of my ignorance. I remember mom asking about

what would I do in a cooking show if I was required to make shellfish for the judges. I froze;

it’s called “unclean” meat. “Unclean” being that eating it would cause health complications,

impurifying God’s temple. Shellfish is a bottom feeder not fit for consumption. Unholiness—

found its way to my tongue. God, the scales of kosher stripped me of my illumination.

A new, all-knowing flesh— my devout parents would find disgraceful, the taste of a scavenger

blocking me from experiencing the joys of heaven. Uni smear stretched on my lips, relishing

Eve’s dilemma. Adventist tongue, quit salivating for the sharp pickling of religious guilt, you’re

participating in a form of hierarchy.

Curiosity gravitates to hunger, so who am I to judge my stomach and its talent for

keeping secrets? I’m incognito in a Telfie, black mink and Revlon 477 to indulge in shellfish.

Surveillance made me hyperaware of who might run in on my sin. Auntie group chats salivating

for incriminating actions. This adulterous secret between crustaceans and I meant that

now I’m less desirable in the eyes of God. Adventism had limitations. I traded unrestricted fish

for a strong concentrated flavor. Uni was supposed to be the man I avoided. I tasted uni, and

the lord met my gaze. At 8282, uni slanted by my plate, buttery and tasting like the sea. I craved

to untether my tongue; to know the undiscovered parts of the ocean. I don’t know when

I would have the strength to deny uni’s decadent offering. It’s an acquired taste,

it made my teeth pucker; yet I never stopped searching for it between pearls of tuna. I swore

I would not be caught up in the emotionality of eating the forbidden. I knew that

in order to erase the evidence of my sin I had to make an exchange. I hoped God didn’t care that

when the server whisked away my plate, no golden uni smears remained. I traded it

for the plum persimmon vinegar. The glass was filled with the sparkling communion tinted drink;

I clunked my shame against my neighbor’s glass. Acid erases forbidden knowledge. I’m grateful

when the check arrives, I pay tithes to diminish the salinity of my religious guilt.

////

When the check arrives, I pay tithes to diminish the salinity of my religious guilt.

I clunked my shame against my neighbor’s glass. Acid erases forbidden knowledge. I’m grateful

for the plum persimmon vinegar. The glass was filled with the sparkling communion tinted drink;

when the server whisked away my played, no golden uni smears remained. I traded it

in order to erase the evidence of my sin I had to make an exchange. I hoped God didn’t care that

I would not be caught up in the emotionality of eating the forbidden. I knew that

it made my teeth pucker; yet I never stopped searching for it between pearls of tuna. I swore

I would have the strength to deny uni’s decadent offering. It’s an acquired taste

to untether my tongue, to know the undiscovered parts of the ocean. I don’t know when

the lord met my gaze. At 8282, uni slanted by my plate, buttery and tasting like the sea. I craved

for a strong concentrated flavor. Uni was supposed to be the man I avoided. I tasted uni, and

now I’m less desirable in the eyes of God. Adventism had limitations. I traded unrestricted fish

for incriminating actions. This adulterous secret between crustaceans and I meant that

surveillance made me hyperaware of who might run in on my sin. Auntie group chats salivating;

“Keeping secrets?” I’m incognito in a Telfie, black mink and Revlon 477 to indulge in shellfish.

Curiosity gravitates to hunger, so who am I to judge my stomach and its talent for

participating in a form of hierarchy?

Eve’s dilemma. Adventist tongue, quit salivating for the sharp pickling of religious guilt, you’re

Blocking me from experiencing the joys of heaven. Uni smear stretched on my lips, relishing

a new, all-knowing flesh my devout parents would find disgraceful. The taste of a scavenger

found its way to my tongue. God, the scales of kosher stripped me of my illumination,

impurifying God’s temple. Shellfish is a bottom feeder not fit for consumption. Unholiness—

it’s called “unclean” meat. “Unclean” being that eating it would cause health complications.

What would I do in a cooking show if I was required to make shellfish for the judges. I froze.

All I know of this desire, originated in the folds of my ignorance. I remember mom asking about

the scales of kosher, the gills, fins and scales requirement— drifted in the sea of my memory.

8282’s blessing, tuna tartare adorned with accents of uni approached the foot of my cross.

I docked the coiled chip by my lips. The unfamiliar becomes acquainted. I was ecstatic that

on my 28th birthday, my canines dug into a nori trophy with beads of tuna tartare. I inhaled.

The bible was a coaster for forbidden fruit approaching the shore of my lips. I lusted and

religion curbed my teeth for years; pretended as if I didn’t own curiosity for crawfish because

I grew up Seventh Day Adventist, meaning I’m forbidden from eating flesh that eats other flesh.