Welcome to the sixth day of our 30/30!
Your prompt today is:
A soup made from memory would smell of
Alternatively: A [meal] made from memory would [sense] of
Guidelines, if you want them:
- Posting your response is not required
- Feel free to post your response 🙂
- This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
- While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
- Tips & encouragement are here
QuillsEdge Press 
wallflower memories/the ones that get swept aside/
by other maelstroms/so vigorous/these tender lilies/
choke to grow/in the periphery of the cerebral cortex./
her garlic rasam/one such marvel/sits somewhere buried/
percolates into my consciousness/in this confusion of winter
& spring/springs into view/without warning, warms my eyes./
her hands, i imagine/around that rasam tin pot/flavoring,
extracting the essence/ her kind eyes, pausing/ to smile
at me/ her melodious voice, in the midst of a song/ unseen./
how quickly she came/ she went/ silently, not like the others/
with flourish and show/ with capes & carpets/ some, like her/
are remembered/with a sip of that rasam/i have never tasted after./
and now i silently hope /when i sit cross-legged/on the floor/
a banana leaf heaped with food/ placed in front of me/ that the person/
who pours the rasam/ with the pungent garlic/ would in fact/ be her.
//for my maternal grandmother – Oct 2002.
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Stone soup is one thing – a soup of inventiveness, comraderie –
but memory soup is a whole other pot.
Smelling of warmth born of green onion and garlic,
carrots and potatoes, it invites sipping
from old bowls used over the years.
The broth is rich and full
with the salt of tears, the pepper of experience,
not the strongest smells but subtle and present.
Like watching movie re-runs, slurping memory soup
is comfortable and satisfying even when a little heavy on salt,
the earthy smell floating up my nostrils.
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Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 6) | Bonespark~
Crush mint and lavender until scents
cling like second skin. Dip your fingers
in a soup where cocoanut floats, and
the night aromas of blooming lilies
heavy with sleeping bees awaken
your senses. Bruise the marigolds
and remember how the early
hyacinths smelled gathered on
the kitchen counter, as freshly
mowed grass clung to the screen.
Call it a floral minestrone or serve
it cold like a chilled gazpacho.
Decline a spoon, and lift the bowl
like some porcelain chalice to
mingle the flavors of nasturtiums
and peonies petals saved from
spring. Dare the glances from
those that don’t know how to
savor these most sensual aromas,
pretend its just soup and you
are too hungry to care!
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a soup made from memory
so long have I labored on this very topic!
my blog http://www.joanleotta.wordpress.com
tracks the progress of my contracted picture book on this very subject
Here is a new poem on this
So much goes into a soup
vegetables
water
stock
do your saute the veggies first, to fix the sweetness. add the richness of olive oil?
do you pour stoick form a can, add chicken or ham
do you follow a written plan?
or like me are your ingreidents
a paen to memory
havest of childhood garden’seasoned with parsely
tomato and your grandma’s love
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