Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

#17 You are savory . . .

You are sometimes hot 
and sometimes sweet, 
the mist from the chiles I cooked 
lingering, pricking my eyes with tears,
a tangerine fresh picked eased the sting.
Together we ate crunchy fried grasshoppers in Turkey,
fresh goat cheese in Greece, the chunks
white and smelly, 
and used chopsticks in Canada
to dip chicken toes 
in a red-yellow Chinese gravy.
We watched a young man 
on the beach in Rio  
work a machete
to open up a coconut, the milk
unexpectedly warm.
Bring out the suitcases. 
I want to savor each day with you.

Here are two pictures from that trip to South America. In most families, when one rattles the suitcase, the other might say, "Not this summer, dear." But in our family, when the suitcase comes out, we both pack.
Allen with the mermaid at Rio de Janiero, Brazil

Sampling Coconut milk in Rio

One day behind, so I'm still playing catchup to write a poem a day for OctPoWriMo. Why not amble over HERE to see what others are writing!

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