Ivor’s Norwegian Recipe for Old Country Pancakes
Read moreApocalyptic Menu
What is on your plate
on the eve of the apocalypse?
Consider the Oyster as Tiny Buddha
Cruising up the Bodega Highway
driving to Jenner-by-the-Sea
Close to Jesus
Grandma always picked red-striped
over pale yellow ripe,
Lumpy Oatmeal
A few soft knots
in the nubby texture—
A Mother's Vinaigrette in Bruges
I wonder, have I birthed a tortured child?
In this sacred city, can I show her joy?
Acquired
My mother ate headcheese.
Sliced thin, doused in vinegar,
An Uneasy Correspondence
In your letter, you spoke with oranges,
and I returned with an apple.
A Taste of the Baths
It was mud.
We were giddy children
Bubblegum Baby
For a few months of grade school somewhere between
Mismatched socks and argyle sweaters
Eating Grapes
With index finger and thumb
I break off the green grape.
Pairing
Love at the Casbah on a Monday Night, 1988
Rice so perfect it can make you cry
nutty and fragrant, each kernel alive
How to Shoot a Turkey
Get a gun.
Get some warm sox and a flask.
Cruciferous Dreams
when my mother told me
just wait
Hard Luck
My mother still cooks Hard Luck
casserole in the big black cast-iron skillet,
bad news sonnet in the style of morgan freeman making breakfast the day after christmas
well. it’s kind of what we expected,
even on a winter morning bright as this.
Coffee Morning
Tiny white snowflakes against a background
of pine green on a grey cold morning contrast the
Lechon Baboy
Uy, kumusta? I’ve brought the lechon, like you asked.
Glazed in soy sauce, garlic, and Sprite— the way Lola taught me.
A Recurring Affair
I recognize this postmortem feeling,
as I painfully extract Cupid’s arrow.