I used to write about food.
After that night
we had that first
big below-the-belt fight
and you challenged me
to make it-
writing,
a submission.
I took the shriveled passion-fruit
and placed them on the kitchen table.
Admiring the small brown cluster
with the tip of my pen
I finely drew out
a likeness
that read-
pink, tender, more seeds than pulp
and nearly dry
inside.
I made something
delicious and tart.
Anyway,
that is how and where the disease
began simmering,
one organ after another
changing tune in time.
It was then-remember-
I renamed
myself, mostly taking away
nourishment,
and then adding a healthy dose
of humility
garnished with a twist of fate.
The paper folded,
and I was told
you may have to wing it
from here.
It is wise to always start
by pre-heating the oven
and a word of warning,
it often makes too much
so I suggest
mixing in small batches,
or halving...
Love,
you will like making this
too-
Ease back in,
cook until the juices run clear,
take small frequent bites,
use salt for wounds sparingly,
smell before tasting,
don't look at the date,
trust your senses,
and know-
most ingredients
may be substituted
in a pinch.
Although
practice makes no promises,
it only becomes sustenance
if you can make it
again and again.
Painting by Peter Jacob Horemans (1700-1776), Still life c. 1774 in Public domain.
