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.