To Taste, by Mel and Kathabela

Mel enjoying a glass of wine

To Taste
by Mel Weisburd and Kathabela Wilson

K:
something low salt
good for Mel
she said
even his tears
are spicy and sweet

M:
My dear, I love your brevity.
(You are indeed a great cook and poet.)
But I am a poet of long breath
who rambles. Let me confess to
you, that in these few years left
I need to consume as much
of mother earth herself,
to go down on her, as it were.
I want to go to the next world
with the tastes on my breath and
reflux and the odors in my nose
of immemorial tastes:
mint, garlic, onion, chili, jalapeno,
horseradish, cumin, curry, radish,
fennel, ginger — anything unforgettable
except salt and sugar so that I can
pass thinly through the eye of the needle,
the most divine tastes in all of the universe
from our mother earth, Queen of the Cosmos.

Mel and Kath

K:
and so she danced
into the kitchen
for him
dropped the sun into her dark pot
and the moon answered

feeling his lightness
upon her
she stirred
in thyme and sage
with the rest for his pleasure

M:
Thyme, that herb
eludes me. Does it give
the broth a theme
from the tree
of life or knowledge?
Does it require a sacrifice,
like the shank of a once
frisky lamb, or shall
we go on a wild goose chase
or settle for Navy beans.
(Am I getting silly
how can this end?

Mel Weisburd going over one of his poems

K:
a muse is better if she cooks
a long time or the morning after
we’re only beginning
to boil you Spring chicken
with your Maltese fricassee

M:
Oh! Chicken in the pot.
My grandma’s specialty!
Not too much salt like the
Delis ruin it.
Throw some gizzard in,
pupik and lachen kugel–
(does Rick know Yiddish?)
Yes, use that slow crock,
and save the wishbone for me.