Sometimes
the smallest detail or yen can lead to inspiration for a poem. My partner and I
were discussing what to prepare for Sunday’s meal. He favored clams and linguini but suggested we buy
a sea or cocktail fork to properly dig out the meat. Well, finding such
delicate utensils in the average market is near to impossible. Walmart or Target did not stock them. Maybe an antique shop or some specialty
store beyond the town and more toward Los Angeles
would. In real life, we used Yankee
ingenuity and settled for corn skewers purchased at the dollar only store.
However, the craving for these small forks made me think of Rapunzel’s mother craving the rampion, a more fanciful or antique way of defining the radish. But in this case, the gender is
switched. The male species hungers for the exotic, the distant. So that became
the start of the opening line. And the narrator, an agreeable and accommodating
wife, searches the local antique shops to
find item. She has no luck and
comes home with a willow twig. Something that caught her eye in the forest
while taking a short cut home through the woods
It is assumed she walked to the market place and resides in a village or
rural area.
She explains it has a purpose just like those high end forks
deigned by Oneida
or Trudeau. Yet, it is more
organic and was left with the holy lip
stain of the forest sidhe/goddess/fairy. The stain suggesting it could be
the milky sap of the willow tree, known for both its sacred and medicinal
properties as well as the breath of the sylvan deity. Furthermore, she surmises
this blessing could reset the table,
their table. It could turn their hunger for the expansive, the outer world with its meticulous and materialistic treasures, to the
interior landscape of nature and the spirit. Their lives could me drawn back to
the wisdom and solidarity of “stone and
wood”, the soft and baptismal intimacy
of rain and firelight. This concept
is also reinforced in the poem’s middle stanza with the phrase, shallow-handed.
I used it because I love the sound and the idea it invokes, the thought of
meaning a low stream as well as something barely full. In this piece, the lack of fulfillment regarding an
expectation or wish. Yet, in that void, there is richness, a higher awareness
of meaning induced by dearth and substitution. The stripped down, bare-bones version often becomes the greater source
of personal wealth and satisfaction.
Trident
In
this fairytale, the husband has a craving.
You want steamed clams
and linguini -- but your dearest wish
is to dig out each morsel with a sea
fork.
Stainless steel or sterling
these trinkets elude the common shops
possessing a fine
magic
that heightens the palate. And so
I searched my antique haunts, but now come home
shallow-handed, A damp twig
wrought of willow bark --
and found
while taking the short cut through our woods.
Partially dug into cool moss cloaking the streambed,
it caught my eye. Though
shaped like the flatware
by Oneida or Trudeau, it was organic
and had a holy lip stain
left by the forest sidhe.
Her blessing
could reset the table.
Our lives turned around --
called back to stone
and wood The intimacy
of rain and firelight.
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