Let me set the context. I've joined a virtual group of poets, committed to writing a poem a day from a received prompt. Great fun. 38 days = 38 poems = 38 lunches.
My lunches are following the shadow of the poems. Never know what will occur on the plate or bowl until I open the refrigerator. I'm beginning to see the refrigerator as
well as the cupboard as a food-prompt.
Today's lunch (which was not yesterday's and won't be tomorrow's).
SALAD #38
sliced avocado
sliced peach
sliced Asian pear
blue cheese
almonds
sliced radishes
mixed salad greens with edible flowers (mostly bits of nasturtium & corn flower petals)
olive oil
And the poem? Pulverize the granite & who are you? Pull the twig from the crow's craw & who is the crow? (Yes, that's the title). It goes on from there.
All in all, a fine day for shaping words & eating the ripe.
Mining Towns p. 14
ReplyDeleteAnd the ghosts come howling
diffidently across the plains
While driving through the cactus
one of the mother rages across the road
one of the father skims the rising heat
ancestors pour across the pavement
admonishing in granite
don't follow our ways, a confusion
we are burning
burning like the slim, dry sticks
Along the highway
all the moving
all the questions