My Father’s Cooking; Asparagus
My mouth breaks these bloodless creatures from 1950s science-fiction films.
by Lenny DellaRocca
[Asparagus] transforms my chamber-pot
into a flask of perfume
— Marcel Proust
Stalks could be green intercontinental missiles
on my plate,
up from the ground in China,
which grows more of these earthy arrows
than any other nation,
could be soldiers wearing helmets
in an ancient Turkish army
sleeping next to each other as I spear them.
Might be spikes for soldiers
skewered in rows after battle in the
green and yellow field of dinner
next to corn niblet gravestones,
greasy continent of a pork chop
with bone peninsula.
Asparagus: crisp vegetable of emperors,
treat for middle class retirees
after a month of peas.
My mouth breaks these bloodless creatures
from 1950s science-fiction films.
And when I pee, I smell
their souls rising
to that great though vanished American farm.
My Father’s Cooking
Garlic hisses in a pot before broken tomatoes
plop like jolly men, simmer all day in oil,
urged to sing with an old wooden spoon.
Spiced souls rise into my nose.
After my father leaves the house,
heart failing, eyes telling me
the meal is not done, I smell meatballs
browning in a pan all the Sundays of my life.
One more please, one more mouthful of Italian bread sopped with sauce,
let me press tines into plump, mouthwatering gods on a plate.
Lenny DellaRocca is founder and co-publisher of South Florida Poetry Journal, SoFloPoJo. He has 3 poetry collections and has been published in many literary magazines and anthologies. He lives in Delray Beach, Florida with his wife, Marie Herrera.