Recipe


It’s simmering, I tell you, when you ask
about the piano poem, and you look up
quizzically, as if to reply, soup simmers.
And I see you believe that poems
can be produced from words as easy
as spices pulled from the cabinet
and sprinkled into a sauce according
to a recipe, then heat, and it’s ready
to consume. How can I explain,
to someone who isn’t drawn to cooking
up poems, the desperation
in the search for words fresher
than a half-ripe tomato, the kneading
of metaphors as scarce as saffron,
the twisting of lines like pretzel
dough into a perfect symmetry
of endings and beginnings
that melt in your mouth.






first published in ByLine Magazine
© 2001 DJ Gaskin