Hodgepodge 262/365 - Poetry (Tamara Madison)

Second in my (very short) series of poems by friends of mine. This one is by Tamara Madison, whom I know through my good friend Kathi. I see Tamara every few years, either when I'm in LA at the same time as Kathi or when Tamara and her partner and perhaps kids come to Big Sur for a few days of camping. She's just retired as a schoolteacher and has a new book of poetry out, Moraine. This poem is from her first book, Wild Domestic.

Saudade

[sau'da-dji]—Portuguese. A feeling of longing for something which is gone, and probably won't—but might—return.

Watercolor by Pat Harrison

Saudade.
Now I get it,
this ache like hunger
only more painful
when you can't stop
thinking of that last meal:
how bright the salad,
crisp the crust
tender the bread,
tangy and full
of juice the meat, and how
you will never taste
that meal again.

Saudade
they say the last time
or the first time
remains in your mind
and you go over and over it
as your tongue worries
a sore tooth: the look,
the embrace, the kiss,
the sweater you wore
that lies ever folded
in your drawer, the letter
you never lose track of.

Saudade
This twist in the stomach
because that's the place
where love punched through
saying, here, here's this hole.
I'm leaving now
deal with it.