Monday, June 15, 2015

Local Poet's tribute to Country Hen organic eggs



Ode to the Omelette

By Wally Swist

I dice onions

that remind me of Renoir’s

painting of onions,


of onions so real I weep.

I crush cloves of garlic,

that are all pungence,


a shaman’s breath,

the kitchen’s verb.

I chop green flags


of scallions, and ripened

from my garden, slice a tomato,

that becomes a song


when cut into wedges,

dripping with seeds, as fragrant

as the garden itself.


All of this goes into

the hot olive oil, now sizzling

now blessing the air.


I beat eggs, pour them into

the skillet, and because I am

happy, spread a handful


of grated cheddar over the top.

I finish this with paprika for color,

cayenne for spicy heat,


tarragon for its gracious

offering of sweetness.

Carefully I fold it,


and now it is done; sliding

from the spatula onto the plate,

my ode to the morning.

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