I don’t write very much poetry, and I don’t publish most of it here (The Donut Shop, Natchez, Mississippi to the contrary). Wednesday night, I was sitting in my U.S. Intellectual History 1865-Present lecture, listening to a talk about James Baldwin and company, when I felt inspired to jot down a quick poem. Its tangential commitment to food makes it appropriate for this website (which I suspect will be publishing more content with no relationship to food whatsoever soon).
Love Letter in a Lecture Hall
she smelled like tandoor and buttered nan
thick curry, chaat, chutney, paneer
[in electric lecture halls
the press of flesh and coffee cups make
like finding fiends in cham cham clouds]
she held a blue Bic and I loved it
Dear Blake, she wrote, her face obscured
behind my blinkers,
stewed love in secret pots.
Love told can be
scratched out before
the pumping pause of hearts unhinged.