Sunday, September 01, 2024

Poetry Sunday


Yesterday, Cartoon Saturday looked at the lighter side of elections. Today, Poetry Sunday turns to a reflection on things we could think about instead of the political darkness ...

Poem with an Embedded Line by Susan Cohen
by Barbara Crooker


When the evening newscast leads to despair,
when my Facebook feed raises my blood pressure,
when I can't listen to NPR anymore,
I turn to the sky, blooming like chicory,
its dearth of clouds, its vast blue endlessness.
The trees are turning copper, gold, bronze,
fired by the October sun, and the bees
are going for broke, drunk on fermenting
apples. I turn to my skillet, cast iron
you can count on, glug some olive oil,
sizzle some onions, adding garlic at the end
to prevent bitterness. My husband,
that sweet man, enters the room, asks
what's for dinner, says it smells good.
He could live on garlic and onions
slowly turning to gold. The water
is boiling, so I throw in some peppers,
halved, cored, and seeded, let them bob
in the salty water until they're soft.
To the soffrito, I add ground beef, chili
powder, cumin, dried oregano, tomato sauce,
mashed cannellinis; simmer for a while.
Then I stir in more white beans, stuff the hearts
of the peppers, drape them with cheese and tuck
the pan in the oven's mouth. Let the terrible
politicians practice / their terrible politics.
At my kitchen table, all will be fed. I turn
the radio to a classical station, maybe Vivaldi.
All we have are these moments: the golden trees,
the industrious bees, the falling light. Darkness
will not overtake us.


Yes, let them. We will assemble at the kitchen table and continue on, as we must. Have a good day and enjoy the rest of your weekend. More thoughts coming.

Bilbo

2 comments:

  1. The kitchen was the hangout spot at my parents house. Not so much our house because of the layout.

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  2. It can be necessary to tune out the rest of the world to keep our own sanity, and that of our families, especially children. I liked the imagery in this poem and its straightforward style. I do not enjoy having to struggle to figure out what a poet is trying to bloody say!

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