by Edward Harsen

You have been after that banana for days,
had junky food up to your eyes,
had some bad water in seventy-five,
dysentery, too.

They start so green, the plantain,
so spider-rich and rigid, they are
dismissible in the contusing dawn
of straw, black, blue, goose and salmon

So at noon, soup.

Later comes thunder in the snow storm,
you step out of the kitchen,
down the stairs, into the garden, to see.
But the sound is gone, the night holds all
that is gone: somewhere in the snow
lie lavender and rose.

Back in the kitchen, rooting through
the cabinets, for flour and baking soda, salt
all pouring white into the bowls,
you can only peel and mash the banana now.
For bread and the warm oven.

©Edward Harsen 2012

3 thoughts on “Acclimatized by Edward Harsen

  1. “That time of year thou mayst in me behold,” by Shakespeare as he ponders the changes to come with old age are symbolic and yet yield to an understanding of what he is writing about. The lush beginning of the ripe plantain amongst the colorful “straw, black, blue, goose, and salmon berries” provide the same contrast as, at the end, after an afternoon of soup, there is no longer any color just like the snowfall, everything is white. The banana is over ripe, good only to be mixed into the colorless “flour, baking soda, and salt” mixed and mashed and changed into banana bread. The law of entrophy or the changing seasons? A feast for the senses and a mental challenge.

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