She went Food Crazy at her open mic night yesterday. And here’s a poem for that crowd.
The Waves of the Donau River
In the beginning was the Mais
Filling my host mother’s Tasche
At the mill beside the Tauber River
And the frisch Milch from Bauer Nurr
Whose American wife was German enough
to grow coarse black curls on her calves and ankles,
and ei and sahne and schokolade and zuecker
And my host mother’s hands mixing two batches
First the white tort, then the chocolate
then das Messer cutting both into waves
And my host mother’s fingers hiding Kirschen
in the waves
and hiding the pan of waves
in her oven
And behold cream fell upon the Donauwellen and covered her waves.
And das Messer spread waxy schocolade over all
und die Hausfrau did speak and allow
us to eat of any food in her kitchen,
but of the Donauwellen we were not to eat
“Or you will surely die.”
But I whispered in my host brother’s ear,
“We will not surely die,”
And so we took
And ate.
And it was good.
