Kim, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, asked for a poem about cooking that “appeals to the senses and is related to [our] life or culture in some way.” I woke up with the Dominican Republic singing memories into my mind—a poem about the kind of breakfast I used to eat when I was a child tasted just right. The side order of nostalgia that came with the writing of the piece was not part of the original recipe… neither was the craving for breakfast in the middle of the afternoon *sigh*.
“My Dominican Breakfast”
Morning food was green bananas,
doing a tenderizing water dance
in a cauldron kissed by firewood.
Next to the cauldron bubbled a tiny pot
that had never been called a kettle; yet,
its belly brewed nothing but ginger tea.
My belly sang its rumbles to the brew,
waiting for the spicy warmth to simmer
true, readying its self for morning food.
True morning food is green bananas
and ginger tea, over firewood and smoke,
conjuring memories… to sting my eyes.
Linked to Poets United (Poetry Pantry 330)
“Fogón… What’s Cooking?” by Mercedes Dayanara