Foodspiration.

White Truffles 

You’re worth your weight in saffron, I tell you;

Or, perhaps in Alba Madonna

Found by my Lagotto Romangolo

On some Italian hillside

I may or may not have passed 

En route to meet with St. Francis.

I knew nothing of gastronomy then,

Riding in a tour bus with snow chains on its wheels.

I sat with my mother playing anagrams, 

While my father bullshitted with the guide 

Named Giacomo, or Gianni, or Gepetto.

Memories like those,

Of eating Minestrone made by monks,

Make me wish I lived in reverse

With my accumulated experiences

Stuffed in a rucksack

Carried on my back.

Maybe then I’d have the right words

For you. 

A Poem Inspired by a Line I Was Fed...

...that made me think of Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres, from which this blog gets its title, and John Steinbeck's magnum opus East of Eden.

Goddess of the No Good Dirt

For J.S. squared

Goddess of the No Good Dirt, 

Whose eyes spring open before Helios’, 

Rises instinctually from her single bed

Pulls up the threadbare quilt, then

Sidles into a modest robe.

Deep sigh. Turned knob. Opened door.

The Goddess passes the room belonging to 

God of There Must Be Water, 

Who, too, is stirring.

Not a word exchanged -

The routine telepathy.

She descends the unfinished pine staircase,

Which creaks with every footprint.

Goddess does not make eye contact 

With the relatives on the walls.

For, if she did, she’d find it hard

To complete the day’s work, 

The life’s work, 

Of adding water to a stream

That could irrigate the land

That would give rise to crops

That should make moving out here 

Worth it.

She adds water to the pot

And coffee grounds to the water

And brings it to a boil. 

Then there’s the straining.

There’s always the straining.