Sugared Ginger

It began today with lunch
On the porch in the sunlight.
Chicken , thyme, oregano,
Hot with pepper
Cool with lemon juice.

I thought of my good fortune;
Of how the simple act of rubbing
Herbs on meat,
The quartering of a hothouse tomato,
For cottage cheese
Lifted my day
to a moment of flavor and taste and ease.

I thought of my father who died 5 years
Too soon to enjoy this meal with us.
How he would have loved the flavors,
The simple ingenuity of preparation,
The elegance of sitting on the deck,
Flower print table cloth on the table.

And now as I turn to write,
On my desk is the box of sugared ginger slices
Bought at a Morse Avenue Mexican market,
On a street my mother could have reached
Only with me at her side.

Sugared ginger made her remember childhood.
In a delicate limoge dish
With English breakfast tea in bone china,
Lemons and a silver strainer to catch the seeds.

I think of the sugared ginger on her lips,
And how she wet her napkin
In the water glass
To dab away the sticking bits.

I want to invite them back again and again.
No talking.
Just quiet tastings and sitting on the deck
With flower print table cloth on the table.

What is it that puts the flavor into things?
Can recipes do it?
How does fortune come into a life?
Shhhhh. No talking.
Just sitting on the deck.