Aubade For The Sous Chef At Cochon
By Nikki Ummel
photo by Wicdhemein One on Pexels
You are Orion and I am pulled close,
to lick the salt from your ears.
WWOZ whispers morning news
as my fingertips chase freckles,
play connect-the-dots, search
your kitchen-scars for constellations
as the sun rises.
I like the feel of you.
Here, in the damp darkness
of your shithole apartment,
the handprints of others
on the wall, above your bed.
I’m not the first hostess
you’ve hunted—there is
a bottle of Wet Head,
half-empty, in the tub
(I look while you are sleeping).
Now I am Orion and I pull you close,
tease a kiss from your tired lips.
When we finish, sun-streaks
mix with sweat,
a pattern of us:
I’ll wrap myself around you, wait
for your star to rise again,
to show you distant suns.
(We blow them out to make room
for us.)
Nikki Ummel is a queer artist, editor, and educator in New Orleans. Nikki has been published or has work forthcoming in Gulf Coast, The Georgia Review, Black Lawrence Press’ In the Tempered Dark, and others. She is the 2022 recipient of the Leslie McGrath Poetry Prize. Nikki is the co-founder of LMNL, an arts organization focused on readings, workshops, and residencies. She has two poetry chapbooks, Hush (Belle Point Press, 2022) and Bayou Sonata (NOLA DNA, 2023), funded by the New Orleans’ Jazz and Heritage Foundation. You can find her on the web at www.nikkiummel.com.
