Healing Without Words

Steamed Baby Geoduck Clams w/Garlic
—Poems by Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA

—Anonymous Photos

COOKING FOR THE FISH COMPANY AS A VOLUNTEER MISSIONARY WHEN A FISH IS NOT A FISH

geoduck clam, sashimi
velvety uni, salty roe
clean a sink full of squid
thick onyx ink, clear cartilage
shell shrimp, devein
raw fish like slick human skin

long hours back in the kitchen
pooled our change
stir-fried ramen and wieners
lunch break, circle of love

Izumi worked his magic at the sushi bar
on breaks, sneaked beer in the walk-in cooler
complained sotto voce, America-jin!

then I was sent to LA
shop, cook, clean up, three meals a day
thirty-person wholesale fish company
mostly, they only spoke Japanese

politely turned up noses at my usual best dishes
brown rice, hamburgers, cold cereal

instead, 7:00 AM breakfast
must be miso soup from scratch
short-grain, steamed white rice
not the healthier brown rice
so, I lugged fifty pound bags, Kokuho Rose
from the grocery, twice a month

glass bowl of new, raw eggs
to crack, stir into steaming rice
sheets of crisp dry Nori, sweet oranges
sometimes my fish company brothers graced us with
breakfast trays of freshly sliced sashimi

lunch was often ignored, no matter what I made
I suspect they ate out
delivering the wholesale fish
restaurants so tempting

when the drivers filed back by 5:30, tired and starving
I’d made meat, vegetables, juice, milk, coffee for all
I found they’d eat cake, so most days
I made two, carrot and dark chocolate sheet cakes
slathered in sweet icing

dinners were convivial, soon all food was gone
I saved a plate for Sato, who returned so late
left the chocolate cake where he’d surely see it
maybe break his diet

living a devotional life, no family, no children
cooking for fellow missionaries
in a church-owned business
wrenched open my sacrificed heart
nourishing them, I was fed 

Plum Tart with Mascarpone Cream

GASTRONOMIC DELIGHTS

It’s a smorgasbord!
cried the robin, mind-to-mind
plucking at emerald blades of
thick, wet grass
after morning’s thunderstorm
Worms! Bugs!

*

on foot, in the city, I spy
wet McDonald’s bun
floating to the gutter, soft
in storm-washed splendor
fast-moving slate clouds
promise more rain
hot popping grease
salty savory meat
melted cheese, PICKLE!
tongue curls in anticipation

*

Really? The entire frozen pizza?
Well, it’s thin-crust
only 250 calories per serving (times three)
Was it good?
Sooo good

*

Plum Tart:
Roll the dough, take time
use two knives, make tiny pills
sweet unsalted butter, honey
stone-ground whole wheat pastry flour
slice sweet purple plums in quarter moons
lay them in a circle, overlapping
sprinkle with cinnamon sugar
Bake 30 minutes at 350 degrees

*

sitting across from you
plates heaped with Thai delicacies
you ordered a beer
I asked for a sip
decades since we shared that bottle of wine
as unneeded then, as now
we already share one skin

*

The Algebra of Food and Love:
food = nourishment, basic for life
food shared with love, 2+2=5
synergy, energy and joy

*

as a child, playing outside
I pulled blades of grass from the earth
so carefully that the white roots came, too
took the tender roots in my teeth
savored their sweetness, surpassed only by
nibbling spring’s purple violets’ stems

*

Raised on 2% milk
it was not until Girl Scout camp in my teens
after hours of swimming and canoeing in the lake
walking to the dining hall
up a dusty trail lined with fragrant wild chamomile
lifting the lever on the square, steel milk dispenser
ice cold whole milk filled my glass
I downed its sublime, creamy delight 

OUTLIER

in my sixties now
the walk here was harder than expected

over concrete and blacktop, leaf-dappled sunlight
perfume of musky creek at my side
baked dry grass, wild weeds’ sweetness, sun’s parching

I walked on, to the church yard
elms, umbrella trees waving overhead
manicured grounds, clumps of flowering bushes

I breathed deeply
warm, heightened peace—hushed, expectant
watch tiny butterfly gambol, feast in a plot of blooms

energy shifted, rich power enveloped me in quiet comfort
memories of Episcopal childhood
my Catholic ancestors felt right at home

quiet, safe, at peace in the sun
basked in holy grace despite years
spent looking for perfection

rested, nature’s balm all around me
spirit knows, heals without words
rocked me for a while in the arms of God

__________________

Our thanks to Ann Wehrman today for her fine trilogy of poems!

Today is a busy day in poetry in our area, beginning at 11am with Coffee and Poets at the Brickhouse Gallery on 36th St. in Sacramento, featuring a discussion about writing between Rhony Bhopla and Lisa Dominguez Abraham (get there early for complimentary refreshments). Then this afternoon, 1pm, Poetry of the Sierra Foothills presents Tim Kahl plus open mic at Caffé Santoro in Diamond Springs. And at 2pm, Davis Arts Center Poetry Series features Linda Scheller plus open mic at 1919 F St., Davis. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa, celebrating the poetry of giving and receiving…

Deep Breath

—Anonymous Artwork

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