Four months away from Breathtakes. I’ve been taking care of the business of life. I’m always reading and writing, but not always finishing…that’s something I’ve just accepted about myself. I finally finished a poem, because I had a deadline, of sorts. Some months ago, I joined FRIEDAcommunity a café and community group located at 3rd and Walnut in Philadelphia. Frieda is creating what they are calling a “FOODbook” which they say “is about memories and stories related to recipes rather than just the recipes themselves.” Not only does Frieda have great food, they have great community events and excursions and now this FOODbook. I joined the group trip to the Metropolitan Opera in NYC, a glorious experience of Puccini’s Turandot, and a very enjoyable time with other members. All that to introduce the first completed poem in what I intend will be a series of poems featuring my Aunt Santa and her recipes.
Aunt Santa’s Pizzelles
The ingredients and directions
are not enough
to create Aunt Santa’s pizzelles.
In her refuge, the basement kitchen,
a cool linoleum floor,
standing at a pristine countertop,
she carefully oils the pizzelle iron,
she waits, patiently, for it to heat.
The table is her workbench,
she rapidly beats the eggs with a fork,
adds precisely measured flour,
sugar, baking powder, slowly stirs.
Like an artist she stands back from her work,
she squints at the recipe,
blinking into memory
recalling improvisations she’d considered.
More vanilla or less? almond flavor this time?
Orange rind or lemon? Both? A little juice?
The dough, a delicate consistency, flows
with fluid assuredness from the spoon
and spreads through the crevices of the hot iron.
Sprinkle powdered sugar with the tin shaker,
a flick of the wrist.
She is immersed in the process.
In the mouth, Aunt Santa’s pizzelles
dissolve slowly,
like Holy Communion,
a lacey lightness on the tongue.
Breathtakes 