I try to end every night by reading a poem, a bedtime prayer for the non-religious. This April, I actually wrote a poem for National Poetry Month, just to see if I still knew how. I’m sharing it with you. It’s sort of a "carpe diem" poem, it’s sort of about food, it’s sort of about my father’s death. The amazing thing about all poetry is that you’ll bring your own experiences to it, and it’ll be about that.
Permission
I pull back the plastic wrap and sink a spoon into the cake.
I think: You should save this.
Then decide: No.
No occasion will be special enough,
And like so many things worth savoring,
You’ll let this go to waste.
Bring the spoon to your mouth and eat the cake.
It’s cornbread, really.
But, it could be the square of bittersweet chocolate
From the Belgian shop an hour’s drive from the house,
The top tier of a multi-tiered wedding cake,
Sweet pink strawberry ice cream.
It will be inedible In two minutes, whether you savor it or not.
Things die without your help.
The affineur did not age the Grana Padano for 24 months
So you could look at it for seven more.
Eat it now.
Let cream and salt melt on your tongue
For no other reason than you are hungry for it.
— Robyn Doyon-Aitken is the host of Connecticut Public's "Seasoned."
