Corn Chowder*

There is a singular sensuality in
the cooking of corn chowder,
how after the onions are cooked
— in rich, real, yellow butter —
until they are soft and clear,
once the boiled potatoes
can be just pierced with a knife
and the corn can be added,
after the cream and the milk,
the parsley and the thyme,
the soup sits on the low burner
and warms itself.
If a person stood close to watch,
they would see it begin a soft
undulating movement
that comes just before the forbidden boil,
and would understand
the life of each single, separate ingredient
was marrying with the next.
And, if back in the day, the observer had failed
high school physics
or declined to memorize chemistry’s
horrid periodic table,
still, this lesson would imprint itself on the brain
and they would remember it.
For, as the bowl came to the table,
they would lift the first spoonful
and bring it to touch their lips,
carefully sipping from spoon’s silver edge,
feeling the heat,
anticipating the pleasurable, paralyzing
first moment of flavor –
tasting the richness of science,
the bond,
and the magic,
and in abandoned inhibition,
would release their own soft moan,
losing themself to the visceral
and pleasures of the blend.

* I am pleased to tell you that you may also read “Corn Chowder” in Alimentum Journal where it was published in the April 2015 edition (

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