Surrendering to Hunger,<\/p>\n
A Sort of Ode to Red Bell Peppers<\/p>\n
By<\/p>\n
Jennifer Angelina Petro<\/p>\n
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Green crowned, red as blood,<\/p>\n
trying hard to be symmetrical<\/p>\n
and beautifully failing,<\/p>\n
the bell pepper sits on the cutting board<\/p>\n
of the cook\u2019s devotion.<\/p>\n
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Gut to seed.\u00a0 The knife\u2019s whisper<\/p>\n
sings hollow through chambers<\/p>\n
that fit so perfectly<\/p>\n
in the palm of the hand.<\/p>\n
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From within, the sweet smell<\/p>\n
rises, first to the nose, and then<\/p>\n
to the eyes, and then<\/p>\n
to the hands.<\/p>\n
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When the halves open,<\/p>\n
a little theater of red drapery<\/p>\n
reveals itself, like a ghost<\/p>\n
lifting its arms, offering treasures<\/p>\n
strung from gauzy curtains, like<\/p>\n
clusters of little, waxing gibbous moons.<\/p>\n
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Both the cook, and the pepper,<\/p>\n
surrender to hunger\u2014<\/p>\n
one to be lifted up and devoured,<\/p>\n
the other to bow their head and eat.<\/p>\n
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The flavors of tin-laced blood and earth,<\/p>\n
hum in the mouth a glistening<\/p>\n
forgiveness, of which, there is nothing<\/p>\n
to forgive, but still,<\/p>\n
it feels that way, as body becomes<\/p>\n
body, as life becomes life,<\/p>\n
sliced into little moments<\/p>\n
of edible wonder.<\/p>\n
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