[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.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
20 comments:
isn't it amazing the simple places we can find joy when we have not been overindulging in our usual over indulgences?????
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!
Even today my mom insists I eat Oats first thing in the morning. I do!
Great piece, I really enjoyed the way you built to the lovely finish.
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.
Thanks, all! I'm glad you like it.
A good match of style to subject matter - simple yet nourishing.
yes i can so relate to the enjoyment in that poem
we all can relate, making this poem even warmer and fuller.
Nice use of line break to set the memory forward.
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.
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.
Fond memories of food and childhood - nicely told!
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.
Good plain cooking. There's a touch of the Jacques Prevert here.
Oatmeal is my fav. too, this is superb..you explained the relish with which I savour my breakfast.
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.
Hi, UL. I envy you your breakfast then, because this meal was really special.
A very nostalgic piece. It takes me back to my childhood.
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.
Hello, writerwoman and rbarenblat. Thanks.
Post a Comment