MUSIC TO READ BY

Recipe Poems

Corn Chowder by Penny Baert Zywusko

Kugel by Sharon Lask Munson

Muffin of the Morning by James B. Nicola

simplicity by Lois Baer Barr

Recipe for Disaster by Jonathan Pacic

Affogato by Lettie

Fall Harvest by Holly Mitchell

The Apple by Kerry Ruef

Brunswick Stew by Lyle Estill

Two Poems by Brenda Butka

Bread by Eva Szabo

Squash Blossoms by Allison Wilkins

Our Table by Joan Seliger Sidney

Recipe for Spaghetti all'Amatriciana by Georganne Harmon

The Agony of the Leaves by Gail Bellamy

Greens by Paulette Licitra

Strudel by Eva Szabo

The Almost Adulterer's Guide to Menu Planning by Michele Battiste

The Pie Series by David Colagiovanni, Melissa Haviland, and Becca J.R. Lachman

Midsummer's Night's Spaghetti with Saffron by Johannes Berchtold

A Cannibal's Suicide by Dean Kostos

From the Garden by Nancy Vienneau

orang slizez jell o shotz by Amy Stetzl

Phở bò Hà Nội by Kelly Morse

Cooking Class, Marrakesh by Georganne Harmon

Spread Triolet by Dana Stamps

The Things Kids Eat by Paulette Licitra

Maybe This Year by Esther Cohen

Braociole by Joseph Bathanti

Basque Cooking by Richard Hedderman

Two Poems by Adrienne Christian

Jailhouse Crack by Harlan Richards

Cinnamon Sticks by Wally Swist

Best of Both by Nancy Vienneau

Corn Chowder

by Penny Baert Zywusko

April 2015    


There is a singular sensuality in
the cooking of corn chowder, how
after the onions are cooked
-- in rich, real, yellow butter --
until they are soft and clear,
once the boiled potatoes
can be just pierced with a knife
and the corn can be added,
after the cream and the milk,
the parsley and the thyme,
the soup sits on the low burner
and warms itself.
If a person stood close to watch,
they would see it begin a soft
undulating movement
that comes just before the forbidden boil,
and would understand
the life of each single, separate ingredient
was marrying with the next.
And, if back in the day, the observer had failed
high school physics
or declined to memorize chemistry’s
horrid periodic table,
still, this lesson would imprint itself on the brain
and they would remember it.
Always.
For, as the bowl came to the table,
they would lift the first spoonful
and bring it to touch their lips,
carefully sipping from spoon’s silver edge,
feeling the heat,
anticipating the pleasurable, paralyzing
first moment of flavor –
tasting the richness of science, the bond,
and the magic,
and in abandoned inhibition,
would release their own soft moan,
losing themselves to the visceral
and pleasures of the blend.

 



  Penny Baert Zywusko enjoys spending time with friends and family, gardening, road trips, and greater journeys where she finds inspiration in the beauties of nature and the puzzles of human nature. Her work has appeared in Still Crazy Literary Magazine