Tuesday, November 17, 2015


Solid as a squash, as a petite pumpkin.  What could be more so?

Not if the cat is involved.  Yes ever the seemingly stationary, moves.

Or is it the cat who moves?

Why contemplating physics at work,
work to be done in the kitchen.

Cut, seed, slice one of these beauties to the left.  Yes, toast the seeds.  Roast the slices with a drizzle of olive oil.  No matter what anyone has told you, the skins -- once roasted -- are delicious.  And the flesh, divine.  Ask any poem waiting for a taste.

1 comment:

  1. Constellations, stripped & scrubbed

    Worries of the world, batted around the asphalt court
    she serves a lovely supper of fruit and bread and wine

    In those arms are wide plains of unpicked corn, sweet
    and still yielding

    Standing by the outdated meter, the young student
    squints to read it, and so another entry in the small book

    Meandering through the relics she takes pleasure
    in their lost meaning, their smooth stone