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Kitchen God
by Alison Pryer
Read more poems from Spirit
in Bloom
When I lived in Japan
the Great Land God
stayed with me,
sat on the fridge
in the kitchen,
brought me luck and
made me happy.
He carried a mallet,
a barrel of rice and
a sack full of fate.
If you prayed hard enough
hed hammer at your door,
bless you with smiles,
spill his white seed,
and youd be having
babies, hot dinners, and good fortune
for years to come.
Now I live in Canada
Eric Lindros
stays with me,
sits on the fridge
in the kitchen,
and smiles down from
a box of Shreddies.
He wears a helmet
and armour and carries
a big hooked stick
for quelling
the demons and spirits
that lurk in the shadows.
Eric,
Happy Kitchen God!
Warm my heart! Moisten my womb!
Bring me babies! Keep evil at bay!
Blood Ties
By Lisa McAllister
When you were my baby
And I was your mother,
I painted your nursery red
For you to feel at home in, to wade in, to sleep in
Like the place you came from, deep inside
When you were my mother
And I was your baby,
You cradled me in your arms while crying thick bloody tears
That pooled in my baby fat neck and stained my bib and my knees
When you were my brother
And I was your sister,
You chased me on bikes
Around and around
Til I fell and you laughed
And ran and told mom I was bleeding on the lawn
When you were my friend
And I was your confidant
We whispered girl blood-secrets in the night
Legs pressed together tight in twin bed
Dreaming of futures vast endless space
When you were my teacher
And I was your student
You drilled me with questions
And demanded repetition
You schooled me in manners,
You shocked me with answers,
You filled me til empty and beat in my head
When you were my lover
And I was your lover
We lay in the rain and recovered our breaths
We talked through the pain and clenched teeth and tight places
We wallowed in poems and shook in cold rhythms
We dissected our fingers and eyes and our spleens
We gave each other blood gifts of raw nerve endings
And broken fingernails
When you were me
And I was you
We melted in blood
We became one
I crawled inside your chest
As I threatened
You crawled inside my head and wouldnt come out
You bled my blood, I bled yours
Out onto white sheets
Bursting out
Bellowing through
Bubbling up
We were born
And gazed up at our mother
Bleeding. |
Air Born
by Ann Gonzalez
Just born.
Plucked from your blood filled and septic womb.
I have only known you
And you are nearly departed.
My legs, like wings, beat the still night air.
The first step of my journey will not come for many months;
I will lurch forward on feet, curled like the quarter moon,
And just as white.
I have not lain with you on the warm, wet, sod;
Touched green with my nose, hands or feet.
Learned -- no matter the height from which I fall --
That the sweet, dark, fertile earth, I have not yet touched,
Will catch me always.
I know nothing of the earth.
All I know of water is in my mouth and on my lips.
I live in the loving caress of air it holds me.
A breeze kisses me gently on my cheek, my eyes turn up a smile.
No one is closer to me than air; no one attempts to be.
My despair, carried into the charcoal-night by airs sweet
breath --
Floats -- buttressed by soil, rich, newly turned, and ready to
sprout.
American Kitchen
By Shubha
Venugopal
The apparition of a face
With black voids for eyes,
A hollow for a mouth,
Reflected in the kitchen window.
Steam seeping from a pressure pot
Barely contains an explosion
Of dal upon ceiling and floor.
Buried between stainless steel plates, cups, spoons,
She whispers into the cookers hiss,
Mumbles into mung beans,
Sighs into the rice.
For years she has tried
To recreate the pungent smells
Of sizzling mustard seeds, cumin and hing,
The clatter of ladles and lids,
The mist of flour on puffed parathas,
The bubbling of ghee burned on pans,
The warmth, the wheat,
The smiles, the sweat,
The humming of womens words,
In her faraway India home.
Each time the kitchen defeats her,
Will not absorb her scents,
Her sounds, her tastes,
Leaves her to hover alone
A ghost above the windowsill.
Each time the walls,
The floors, the neglected corners
Echo with the mutterings of
Unwritten letters,
Unspoken words,
Unuttered longings
For the caress of a mother,
For the secrets of sisters,
For the soft arms of aunts,
For the squeals of unruly nieces,
For the vibrations of lost voices
Left behind in her India home.
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