Monday, November 26, 2007

Food Poem

[I finally got around to checking out the Read Write Poem site and found a lot of familiar blogging poets there. They prompted me to write a food poem - and with a poet who cooks, that opens up a lot of territory!]

After the Stomach Flu

For three days
I drank only a
small sip of water
followed by a wait,
and then a single, dry
saltine cracker.

But at last
I sat,
showered and dressed,
in the tiny, tidy shack
that was open for breakfast
and run by two nice old women.
I ordered a bowl
of oatmeal.

I added a bit of sugar,
and a little milk,
and I took a careful spoonful
into my mouth.
It was warm and soft,
and I swallowed
just like
on the cold mornings
of my childhood winters,
when Mom made sure
we always had a warm breakfast
before heading off to school.

I still remember that day
when oatmeal
was the best thing
I had ever eaten.


paisley said...

isn't it amazing the simple places we can find joy when we have not been overindulging in our usual over indulgences?????

Pip said...

I love that so many of us have written about food memories this week. I could really taste how good that first meal must have been!

gautami tripathy said...

Even today my mom insists I eat Oats first thing in the morning. I do!

Jo said...

Great piece, I really enjoyed the way you built to the lovely finish.

June said...

Haven't we all felt this! Well said. It is strange how what typically would be considered bland or insufficient has a way of becoming perfect and appreciated. It just takes the right circumstance. It's true for eating...but in other aspects of life too.

sister AE said...

Thanks, all! I'm glad you like it.

Dave said...

A good match of style to subject matter - simple yet nourishing.

Crafty Green Poet said...

yes i can so relate to the enjoyment in that poem

...deb said...

we all can relate, making this poem even warmer and fuller.

Nice use of line break to set the memory forward.

sister AE said...

Thanks, ...deb. I'm glad that worked for you. I occasionally debate line breaks with myself. Somedays they mean one thing to me - other days they mean something else.

Mariacristina said...

Such a tenuous moment, that intant when a person takes that first bite after illness.

You had me seeing the humble oatmeal in a much more noble light.

Nice poem.

aka Danny Wise said...

Fond memories of food and childhood - nicely told!

Maria said...

That was nicely done. And yes, oatmeal hits the spot after an illness.

I just liked this. I could taste that milky softness, feel the spongey after taste on my tongue.

Lovely, lovely.

Anonymous said...

Good plain cooking. There's a touch of the Jacques Prevert here.

UL said...

Oatmeal is my fav. too, this is explained the relish with which I savour my breakfast.

sister AE said...

Thanks, Dick. I didn't know who Jacques Prevert was, so I dug around a little. So thanks for the compliment and also thanks for the introduction.

sister AE said...

Hi, UL. I envy you your breakfast then, because this meal was really special.

writerwoman said...

A very nostalgic piece. It takes me back to my childhood.

rbarenblat said...

I know the feeling! I like the way the poem opens -- how you measure out scarce words, just as you measured out a scant taste of water and saltines.

sister AE said...

Hello, writerwoman and rbarenblat. Thanks.