Fooding: A Meal in Five Bites

1

Where am I going,

sour stepping,

with a mouth like

a red dead chilli pepper,

and a bland blancmange belly?

I wish I could smell

Amma’s sweat in the kitchen,

as she’s sizzling up the onions

and puffing the red powder.

I’m too far away from that

here, grey cloud underfoot,

and Saint Catherine can’t

save my soul,

but some corner,

there must be an eat for me.

2

So I check out a

chutney-green crisp

twenty,

and as my card

comes out, I go

west stepping on

the boulevard.

3

It is steaming for me,

an orange lakshmi

wood icon,

fooding my worship.

4

The waiter saunters up,

squat and suspicious,

wondering if I talk his

brown Bengali?

I do, but I english it.

My authority to order

the Chikkun Biryaani.

But he can tell by the way

the food rolls off my tongue

that I’ve seen those basmati before,

stained my fingers

yellow before and made

mellow my belly fire

with cool cucumber

yogurt

5

It’s just the day,

to set the mouth ablaze,

stoke the body flame,

and feel the heat

all the way from home.