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Category: Food

POEM: Our Bodies, Ourselves

Our Bodies, Ourselves

I came back from a week in Plymouth,
where my grandparents had been plying me
with Ring Dings and unlimited TV.
I got out of their car and saw
the look of horror on my mom’s face.
Every night for weeks she made me
jog around our neighborhood
to lose the weight I’d gained on the trip.
I was six, maybe seven, years old.
I finished lunch before writing this.
I logged every calorie into an app.
In six weeks I’ll be 50.
It never goes away.

/ / /

28 July 2023
Charlottesville VA

This is poem 7 in a new series, 50 Days Till 50 Years. I’m writing a poem a day between now and my 50th birthday. I’m going to try to focus on memories of my past, and the people who inhabited it.

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POEM: Please Wait

Please Wait

The box fan blows the last
of the salmon & oil smoke
out the front window.

The rice is still warming
in the cooker, sending up wisps
of steam like a papal signal.

The dishes are Tetrised onto
a plastic camp table
covered in blue-checked cloth.

In the living room that is
also the kitchen, a man hunches
over the keyboard.

Two robins play tag
on the front lawn; a single
bluebird alights on its box.

Soon there will be washing-up
to do, and then the long hours
until sleep.

(After 20 minutes on hold,
the music cuts out and
the call is disconnected.)

/ / /

27 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Teaspoons & Tablespoons

Teaspoons & Tablespoons

I have burned incense.
I have lit candles on the shelves.
I have made offerings to the memory
of Bourdain and Child.
I have done these things to summon
the ability to walk
into the kitchen,
look through a series
of scantily stocked cupboards,
then to take what is found
and create a meal.
The magic has not visited me,
but on full-moon nights
I can almost see dinner.

/ / /

24 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Counting


Are there 90 million birds in Essex?
He sets up a folding chair
on the high street and starts to count.
After an hour or so the sun has risen enough
to become somewhat annoying
so he repositions the chair
but as he looks down he notices
the shadow of wings flitting
across the pavement;
he realizes he’s missed some.
I guess we’ll never know, he thinks,
and goes for a cuppa instead.

/ / /

16 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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haiku: 13 April 2023

the aroma of a nearby fire
fades in the steam
of my morning tea

/ / /

13 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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haiku: 17 January 2023

January seeps in under the door
I pull my mug of tea
closer to my chest

/ / /

17 January 2023
State College PA

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haiku: 16 January 2023

memories of solitary lunches:
the sound of Eddie Pepitone
the taste of chicken makhani

/ / /

16 January 2023
State College PA

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haiku: 4 October 2022

look out into a field of stars
the salt at the bottom
of a bag of pretzels

/ / /

4 October 2022
State College PA

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haiku: 9 June 2022

mole, a tamale, refried beans
if only my stomach
were my brain

/ / /

9 June 2022
Pittsfield MA

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