I find my sustenance from food, words and the human experience. Once in a while, I'm lucky enough to find all three in a delicious bit of poetry. Since April is National Poetry Month and this is a foodie's blog...to celebrate I'm going to try and gift you a food poem with every blog post this month. Just some food for thought. :)
ASPARAGUS by Margaret Atwood
This afternoon a man leans over
the hard rolls and the curled
butter, and tells me everything: two
women love him, he loves them, what
should he do?
sifts down through the imperceptibly
brownish urban air. I'm going to
suffer for this: turn red, get
blisters or else cancer. I eat
asparagus with my fingers, he
plunges into description.
He's at his wit's end, sewed
up in his own frenzy. He has
breadcrumbs in his beard.
if I should let my hair go grey
so my advice will be better.
I could wrinkle up my eyelids,
look wise. I could get a pet lizard.
You're not crazy, I tell him.
Others have done this. Me, too.
Messy love is better than none,
I guess. I'm no authority
on sane living.
Which is all true
and no hep at all, because
this form of love is like the pain
of childbirth: so intense
it's hard to remember afterwards,
or what kind of screams and grimaces
it pushed you into.
The shrimp arrive on their skewers,
the courtyard trees unroll
their yellow caterpillars,
pollen powders our shoulders.
He wants them both, he relates
tortures, the coffee
arrives and altogether I am amazed
at his stupidities.
I sit looking at him
with a sort of wonder;
or is it envy?
Listen, I say to him,
you're very lucky.
For the two recipes & nutrition info check out my article in today's San Angelo Standard-Times. Enjoy!