Chefs, I present to you
my love of the divine-
roasted garlic in fruity
olive oil, pureed fresh
tomato, basil, a marriage
of sweet, salt, tang, floral
that touches the nose before
tantalizing the tongue. Tuscany
in June. Ohio in July.
Slice a mushroom, you enter
the cave, play in the dirt
it came from. Horseradish
hits you between your eyes
so cry and close them. Eventually
an orange becomes a Carolina
summer morning, musk
melon, a fourth of July
picnic in the Berkshires, Cinnamon
bread toast reminder of sweet, burnt
school morning breakfasts on the run.
Today I hand you a tangle of adjectives:
earthy, gorgeous, seductive,
briny, subtle, juicy, tart, sour
milk gone bad, green cheese,
a fridge in need of cleaning.
But your nose
will lead to what you love
are loathe to , to what works
on the palette and does not: memories
of blackberry notes
in the Barbaresco, hint of hazelnut
in your coffee, vanilla bean ice
cream, the perfume of Michigan
cherries, the peppery music
of Indiana arugula .
Early Morning Poems 