(I <3 rap covers. and this chick can RAP)
cooking is not hard
and what I'm discovering is, it's not that bad.
It's actually... really fun
and, depending on what I'm cooking, really easy.
Another thing I love about it is that it's the chance to MAKE something. Not out of words or cut up pictures or magazine clippings or from a musical instrument, or any of the things I typically get creative with. But it's a chance to be creative with flavor, with strange collaborations of tastes, with presentation, with things that are fresh from the earth - and you get to create them into something new. It's like a little art-project, cooking is.
Last night I made my most domestic meal yet - meatloaf (which tasted just like Mom's - a little burst of excitement there!) with mashed potatoes (not instant, thank you very much).
This afternoon, my friend Hannah and I wanted a fun summer lunch. So we made a strawberry-onion-spinach leaf-poppyseed dressing-salad with pesto pasta that was topped with fresh basil and cherry tomatoes. It was YUM and ridiculously easy.
so if anyone wants to have a cooking date with me/offer up some of their favorite recipes, I'm all for that!
writing poems a lot instead of blog posts.
such is life.
------------
when you think things in the city
When I am adjacent to
the Brooklyn Bridge
my body skyline
is shoulder – collarbone-
neck base –
collarbone – shoulder.
A Puerto Rican band nets
small catches of Spanish
words between hollow
gaps of my bones.
Once, I was convinced
of a million things.
Now, I imagine
that if I press my body
snug against the sky,
I’d lay a labryinth
of colors-
all the things I loved:
milk foam, lavendar smell,
crap pop songs,
the works.
When my fingers are
dripping against my leg
to the follow of a song,
the sun is past the stage,
and that’s exactly where
I find them:
The setting of every
gorgeous thing I tried
to describe,
or own -
but couldn't.
