Wednesday, January 06, 2016
Signing My Name
I've always been proud of my service in the Peace Corps. And it's important to me to use that experience, living in and being loved by an Arab Muslim community, to improve relationships stateside between Christians and Muslims, Americans and new immigrants. Islamaphobia frustrates and, at times, infuriates me. Hatred boils my blood. So signing my name to this was a given. Full release here: https://lookaside.fbsbx.com/file/2016%20RPCV%20Islamophobia%20letter.docx?token=AWyoaz-T2IYk__iA_bjCeFItZg-BpnnLPW4dCUh9iPxh7XMOXk-GwttOmYBkBCVpM4y7vaXFk5q9hGcM6_eO3ITr-qbnCV9MNE_p7h6SPoHrkg
Monday, January 04, 2016
Mid-Whisk
I was mid-whisk in a batch of pralines when I got a call that someone I love dearly was in the hospital. My head and heart did a dance, my head commenting on the price of pecans, how silly it would be to ruin another batch, my heart highlighting how easy it would be to curl up on my kitchen floor and worry, worry, worry, pralines be damned.
The pralines survived, a decent showing. A few of the pecans were a touch dark, a bite or two may have had a hint of scorch under all that sugar and buttermilk. But I heard no complaints, I was likely the only one noticing the consequences of that mid-stir long pause.
The crisis resolved, loved one restored, pralines devoured, that moment mid-whisk has come back to me several times. It's not just that moment of worry, but the moment of peace that followed I remember. Hence, a poem.
Mid-whisk in the second batch of pralines, a call comes
Fingers sticky, bend a knuckle to swipe right, "hello?"
That voice is always calm, sad, but calm, for these moments
Always says, ..."just wanted you to know..."
Speaker phone crackles, match each stir with a pause
Candies are delicate, need a swift, constant flutter
Smell the sugar as it heats, just shy of burning
"We'll know more soon," as I drop the butter
Remove from heat and pour in the pecans
Think, if I cry, I should cry on the floor
Or tilt my head to the side, for fear of the salt
But I don't cry, I just stir, stir some more
Dropped bit by bit on a long piece of wax,
Fingertips burned by sugared foam
Smile as each clouds, hardens, dares for a bite
Hear him always, mid-prayer, mid-whisk, in my home.
The pralines survived, a decent showing. A few of the pecans were a touch dark, a bite or two may have had a hint of scorch under all that sugar and buttermilk. But I heard no complaints, I was likely the only one noticing the consequences of that mid-stir long pause.
The crisis resolved, loved one restored, pralines devoured, that moment mid-whisk has come back to me several times. It's not just that moment of worry, but the moment of peace that followed I remember. Hence, a poem.
Mid-whisk in the second batch of pralines, a call comes
Fingers sticky, bend a knuckle to swipe right, "hello?"
That voice is always calm, sad, but calm, for these moments
Always says, ..."just wanted you to know..."
Speaker phone crackles, match each stir with a pause
Candies are delicate, need a swift, constant flutter
Smell the sugar as it heats, just shy of burning
"We'll know more soon," as I drop the butter
Remove from heat and pour in the pecans
Think, if I cry, I should cry on the floor
Or tilt my head to the side, for fear of the salt
But I don't cry, I just stir, stir some more
Dropped bit by bit on a long piece of wax,
Fingertips burned by sugared foam
Smile as each clouds, hardens, dares for a bite
Hear him always, mid-prayer, mid-whisk, in my home.
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