Omophagia

The eating of raw flesh; follows sparagmos

We power-walked through a graveyard
to get to Copenhagen’s best beef tartare.
Late July, the loitering light smooth-talked
the headstones, the marble tombs, the grass
tamped down over Kierkegaard’s grave.
Katerina’s legs. Pillars of cypresses.
I know—so many lovers gone to seed,
so much highfaluting light. Breathless
at Manfred’s, I stilled my spinning head
against the cellar wall, gulped a glass
of golden Georgian wine. Are you alright?
She asked. Yellow marigolds gilded
the plate of minced raw beef. Sweet nothings,
we keep leaving flowers for the dead.

________

A devout bon vivant living in Atlanta, Gregory Emilio has work published or forthcoming in Best New Poets, Crab Orchard Review, Duende, North American Review, Tahoma Literary Review, and The Southeast Review. He’s the Nonfiction Editor at New South, and recently won White Oak Kitchen’s 2020 Prize in Southern Poetry. Perhaps more importantly, he earned third place in the High Museum’s annual cocktail competition last summer.