Ghazal of Wild Things

Fried locust wings in peppery vinegar, savory
more than sweet: think of the possibilities.

That documentary on donkeys as the new
food craze in China— who knew of the possibilities?

Once I ate a spoonful of cold ants’ eggs from Abra:
tart honeyed bites, an appetizer possibility?

The mouth is paved with tastebuds: a Union
Station of innumerable possibilities.

Sometimes the simplest broth works as nostalgic
elixir— stirring up returns no longer as impossibilities.

Three stalks of wild garlic in the yard, surviving winter, seasoning
the snow. Tell the girl in the underworld of that possibility.

Luisa A. Igloria
02 27 2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

Series Navigation← ImminenceLetter to Water →

3 Comments


  1. Surprising jump from what was there! (Although I expected as I went along that the geese would be eaten. Somehow, strangely.)

    Reply

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