The clear glass lid doesn’t quite fit the pot we’re using, but it doesn’t matter.
I grasp the handle and hold it in place as I shake the pot.
be sure the kernels are coated in oil
I remind myself. I sneak a peek, and confirm that they are.
A sizzle, more pips, and suddenly, all is full of love.
They dance, and sing, celebrating a change of state.
we live for this
I turn the heat up and the bouncing intensifies. Because the lid is not quite right, I slide it too far forward.
Minute drops of oil demand my attention, spitting way, escaping their glassy confines and landing on my wrist, as if to say
Come on guys, we’re making a break for it!
pip pip pip
It’s a free-for-all, caroms off lid and each other.
The original mosh pit
And moments later, after the dust (and the salt) has settled,