#97 - hunger pangs
Art by Viggo Johansen
Pesto in August by Katrina Vandenberg
How many times does this ritual repeat
itself, preparation that begins with sweetness
unlocked by the parting of leaves? How many
women have unpetaled garlic cloves, dripped oil
cold-pressed from olives down a bowl's curve,
ground the edible seeds of pine with mortar
and pestle until the clay was sweet with resin?
Though the legend speaks of love, in Italy
when a woman let basil's scent seep from
her clay-potted balcony, she was being modest
when she said the smell would tell a certain man
to be ready only for her flowers and her smile.
Tonight I steam pasta until my wallpaper curls
from the walls, slice heavy globes of tomatoes
that separate in sighs of juice and seed,
then toss them with hot spaghetti and the green
my garden has produced with sun, wind, earth,
moon, rain; I remember another legend,
that a sprig of basil given
in love seals love forever.
A clink of plates, of silverware, an overflow
of wine. Say, Love, I am ready. Come. Take. Eat.
Other food poems I read this week:
"I allow myself
the luxury of breakfast
(I am no nun, for Christ’s sake).
Charmed as I am
by the sputter of bacon,
and the eye-opening properties
of eggs,
it’s the coffee
that’s really sacramental.
In the old days,
I spread fires and floods and pestilence
on my toast.
Nowadays, I’m more selective,
I only read my horoscope
by the quiet glow of the marmalade."
-I allow myself by Dorothea Grossman
"The miracle of risotto, it’s easy to miss, is the moment when the husks dissolve,
Each grain of rice releasing its tiny explosion of starch.
If you take it off the heat just then, let it sit
While you shave the parmesan into paper-thin curls,
It will be perfectly creamy,
But will still have a bite."
-from Thursday by James Longenbach
"Here’s how to make a great sandwich:
country white bread lightly toasted,
contoured with mayonnaise, leaf
lettuce spilling over the borders,
overlays of tomatoes, train tracks
of bacon leading straight
out of town. No need for road
maps, potato chips, or pickles.
Yes, winter is waiting, just over
the horizon. But right now, I’m
going to sit in the sun and listen
to birdsong. I’m going to eat
every crumb, every plottable
coordinate, now, while I can." -BLT by Barbara Crocker
"I might stand at a fruit stall
having decided
to ignore the apples
the mangoes and the kiwis
but hold my hands above
a pile of oranges
as if to warm my skin
before a fire." -from Oranges by Roisin Kelly
Recommended Listening:
Creative Class, a podcast for freelancers
Brené Brown with Ibram X. Kendi on How to Be an Antiracist The Rework Podcast
Links of the Week:
Drawn (freely-available animated shorts from around the web) COVID Good News 42 Easy Challenges to Help You Spend the Time Productively (My favorite: Sit outside and listen to the birds.) Until We Meet Again (Dropbox put out the coolest care package) Read: The Ickabog by JK Rowling (A fairy tale for children in lockdown) Jazz Keys (Translates what you type into jazz!) Guide: A creative person’s guide to feeling healthy Quarantined Woman Creates a Fine Art Museum For Her Guinea Pig An illustrated guide to quaranzines + zine-spiration from The Creative Independent Creating cut-paper maps with illustrator Christian Robinson “When you have a community that cares about each other, then people are interested in adhering [to the guidelines] for other people" -from Amid the Coronavirus Crisis, a Regimen for Reëntry by Atul Gawande Quarantine Art Projects by Millniece Pinto and Anushka Tendolkar
Workshop: Gratitude Journaling
It's the last two days to sign up for Mindful & Body's workshop on Gratitude Journaling this Wednesday.
I'm compiling a PDF with some poems on gratitude alongside my doodles for all the participants! :)
Guess who made their doodles into Instagram GIFs?
Search for thealiporepost to use them in your Stories!
Also, do check out The Alipore Post website regularly. I've been sharing new poems and art daily.
Take care, and remember to tell the people who matter how much you love them.
-Rohini