Mouths cracked open, their golden yolk spilling out onto a seasoned griddle Spittle of words oozing out across the paprika scent, the fried poem plated With a sausage patty of lyric and the toasted bread of want, Pour a chilled glass of zest citrus syrup, the sour daiquiri of change And drink the romance slowly… Let it pool in your cheeks, wash your teeth with the scent of limes And digest the sugary coating of your throat as bites of purpose nip your tongue, Kiss with liquor on your lips when the whiskey courage of a ballad drips onto your chin And talk about Home as though it tasted like empanadillas dripping con queso El carne, the grease, the presence of peers satiating our always hunger, Serve it piping hot and sweating with tang, to those starving (just like you!) Never forget the pang of hunger, the sting of uneaten desire, Since every syllable lost is one more forgotten ingredient in the manifesto, Write your comfort food out onto the page and breathe in the rising steam of cream, The childhood bowl of nostalgic affection a dip for the freshly baked roll of love, Never discriminate the ears of the nourished with the dishes you may fear they'll dislike Since every tastebud must make first acquaintance, every thought from your kneading palms A new spice for the cabinet, another dash of salt and pepper honesty (to taste). Write your poetry like you pour out sauce, drips of temptation and creative flavor, Doing everything in their power to drench the starch of mindfulness with savory, soulful, nectar.
Jorge Biaggi, ’23