How to Eat Soft Tofu
Glistening purity quivering.
Scooped from a wooden box
And placed carefully in a blue ceramic bowl
Of concentric ink blooms.
A Soft body,
Curdled in its own milk.
Holding the ladle spoon gently,
Dipping into the near whiteness (near yellowness),
It slides down ones throat
A dream not quite remembered
but still breathing in ones silent mouth.
Grip the broken end, the splintered bone
and nibble gently into spice-softened reptilian skin,
tearing into sinew and cartilage.
Masticate the morsels of childhood flavors
of satisfaction and shame
lingering on the round edges of your tongue.
The blurred memories of tropical heat
sharpen with this salty, sweet, chewy claw.
Spit out the bones like baby teeth
from a mouth that no longer speaks
the Mother Tongue.
Eat this alone in the kitchen at night-
not one, but the whole pack.
Then scrape the pile of broken fingers into the trash
hiding all evidence
of this delicacy.
“The rocks are beyond slow, beyond strong, and yet, yielding to a soft, green breath as powerful as a glacier, the mosses wearing away their surfaces grain by grain, bringing them slowly back to sand. There is an ancient conversation going on between mosses and rocks, poetry to be sure. About light and shadow and the drift of continents.”
- from Gathering Moss, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, botonist
Something to meditate on as we hustle about the city...