April prompts #31
A Food poem
You haven’t seen all of Warsaw, but you’ve seen three tables.
Cold Chłodnik (you say “whahd-neek”) green with dill.
And Smacznego. The white linen cloth. Plates
of meat and cheeses, salad of tomato
and greens, mushrooms because it’s the season,
Celinka’s pierożki with more mushrooms.
Thick slices of seeded bread and special rolls
from the bakery at the corner, and butter,
and rose petal jam (say “rose petal jam”).
A basket of paper napkins with red,
white and blue stripes in your honor. Gosia’s
blueberry pierogi. Coka-cola, apple juice
because Dominik will run a marathon,
the narrow glasses of vodka or Jarek’s
soul-cleansing mixture, which surely does.
The salty oscypek made by mountain
people. Pickles, ogórków and mushroom.
You are full. Language, and why did Babcia
Florentia go to Cleveland and why
did Frieda stay and why did the Russians
shoot Rudolf on the front steps of the house
where they were born? And the puppy plays
on the floor with the children who have been
excused. Two hours and you are really
full. And in comes Jola with her handsome sons
and she has brought a dish of corn and cream
just for you because you do not eat meat,
and a cheesecake and a mazurek filled
with raisins and walnuts and frosted with
chocolate and this is your family and Edek
fills your glass again and na zdrowie.
And you eat.