consuelacooks

cooking, poetry, and unapologetic intense moments in a life

Category: beets

I would love to, OR, how we might behold.

III
a guitar pick and a romp for the black cat
3 bands later it was still moving and
I could feel the calm start to seep in
We can rest here

(and the drummer’s mouth is open because he’s pounding, the guitar player broke his third string, the microphone is just receiving screams because after so many songs what is there to do but scream)

I can’t hear anything
and planets surge forward
in this two-horse town of trees
and all those barren bodies look in frenzy for the tonight in the ones next to them, across from them, upstairs from them, down the bar…
but the pounding is still ferocious
and how can they ignore
oh the best
part
when all the drinks bought make the guys on stage a little reckless and
shit gets louder, even
and each word is a prayer said over
sinewy arms, ringed fingers, nicotine lips…

And that fateful moment
“Thank you, Goodnight”
the white light blast our eyes
making women wish waterproof was for real
making stagger a zip code
making cabs chariots
making the cold night a question mark for the leftover
the lonely
the lascivious

the cold slaps me
and on nights like last night
I start running fast into the black
into the cold
splitting it in two
with The Queen is Dead across my chest
just to feel the blood pound into my face

I know it’ll come again because
the Pour house is there, the Lincoln there
and so many to see
and so many nights to
welcome
this breakneck, lovely cold splitting Midnight.

(when we replace the thought of us with birds, and release us into clouds that eat us whole, spitting out the seeds)
There’s a novelty to breathing
Held fast tight fat pockets grasping inside hand reaching
Angelwhere.
I wished you would hold me
Just for seconds of course
I can’t stay the course
I gotta bang-bang all over my psyche and talk future like
Wanting for ambition to take hold
Waiting for the wings to melt
I gotta slam into dem bones I see
In my dreams, vain, glorious
Wanting for a darker knight, a darker fight
A false fevering fleshed out soldier
Wanting more of that light, six shooters bright
But it just gets colder
Those sheets just get colder,
that sunbeam where you were gets colder.
That hotel room, that coffee those moments
Like smoke, get colder
A double A
double offering, the sky,  sucked us right in.
Changeling children and
Madly doting lovers reminded me that I could laugh.
For extra comfort I held my own hand.
And the blue up high had a circling bird
Tethered to Jehovah and the angels it flew circle wise into darker
Tree ridden areas for rest.
And I got a letter from Jehovah today.
Those chain letters that
piece together all of the unknowns

II
Whether I be chicken, deviant, cartoon mug or frost
I am shrouded in hair, black
guarded by feet, convex
healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same summer and wisher
I can’t help but think that those rocks in
Virginia’s pockets each had a weight of their own
One, four pounds, one twenty
Each girded in express melancholy

I
Feel ten degrees warmer thinking of you
Gentility in approach
Fingers on the underside of my chin
Hands grasping lower back for fear of slipping
Perspiration lining the runway of spine and hip
Each freckle accounted for
Triple Decker sunshine candy girl has five feet
Of surging words for apathetic ears
I miss that room where boys dance on heads,
girls shake words from a stone
Jesus freaks with crayons pattern stigmatic guitar rifts
And Queen of nightlife moves through the room like some silver
Beauty ghost with eyes that stop trains
And hands that can hold a child with no fear
So yeah, I’ll spout them, three and with heart
I’ve run out of what calms the race, so we’ll see if
Grass will grow on faster ground
On hands made of war, and breath composed of brown eyes, wandering
Consumption just doesn’t work, but I keep it up despite
Monster premonitions and tighter belts

Angel come, come and fit fever on your wing
Angel run your hand through my eyes and pull out the softer girl
With hair of silk
thighs of green

thoughts of pounding hooves.

Advertisements

Swim in this, and hold your breath.

Last night there was certain magic that occurred.  I slept well for the first in my new apartment. I think there might be a few contributing factors to this happening.

One:

Image

This girl. Frances Maui. A new addition to my life. Smart, fast, beautiful. Kind. Funny. Sleeps under the covers with me.

Two:

The dinner.

Homemade Guacamole, Pico and lovely chips.

Slow roasted pork and tofu (Chipoltle peppers, Honey, Molasses, Cumin, Lemon Juice, Cashews, Almonds, Chocolate)

Couscous with Pine Nuts, Cilantro, Onions, and Tomatoes

Beets roasted in Malbec with Molasses, Cayenne and Sea Salt

Three:

The People. A lovely bunch. Jo, Luke, Caroline, James, Caitlin and I. And Franny the Cat. Who was on her best behavior. Like always. It filled up my heart, filled up the house, and filled the creaky spaces left with questionable energy with love.

Four:

I started writing again. Revisiting poetry from the past year. Sprucing it up. Humaning it. Making it breathe.

Post lizard-hunting activities

One day until wheels leave ground and I am airborne

And two three dancing at the derby and

Three four spine like I will travel down old paths

And old familiar eyes

Angels and batboys both need running shoes

And twenty years later will I say your name?

The house is burning, sweet Jesus- the smoke!

Skywise it puffs up like proud bird and God will go bowling soon

I’ll point my toes toward the red

If only for a day more

A night more

One love at a time at a viper’s speed

Pouncing on heart and freeing the room that was left

Behind years ago

Where falling leaves live, and earthworms the size of

Stormtroopers, cats the size of

Two-stories, hands the size of

Me.

And I pause for dreaming

I remember running, running so fast, so far in rain

At six or seven, running in stealth, me and Roberto

Fast with tight white Florida shirts baring

Arms, hands brown

Shorts baring brown legs, dirty knees

(post lizard hunting)

And that lightning could have pounded me in the chest as he

Closed in fast

Closed in grabbing

Arms tight closed in hard and fast

On pink mouth with kiss

And the rain ran down curiosity

The rain ran down a different take on Father

The rain ran down balloons and birthday scotch

I felt tongue muscle slide across wet bottom lip

Fierce Florida destitute forlorn poor kids

Learning the way to longer days

Punching the sky with boredom and new-found

Belly clenching activities

I don’t want to give, I say. I don’t want to

Have to quiet down.

I want to yell it scream it kick it whisper it

Bigger than my life before

I want to swim before and after by MY hand.

I want to keep my words, and my womb and my wicked hands

And throw them slowly to the sea

I want to learn 5 ways to say I desire you.

I want to be silent and only watch.

I want a different take on this all.

I want to rub chocolate on the white house and

Eat from my yard

I want to eat you like a whole almond, he said.

Me and time we see,

And I never knew the shape of trees in a hurricane.

And I love has never left me so full as these years, three

And I wait for your foot on the stair.

Deer Tick in the Morning

So the lovely New England beats on. 

  • Birthday Parties
  • Lots of Cooking
  • Checking the Crazy card for a few days
  • A lovely day off
  • An audition (surprise, Carmen!)
  • Two days until move in

We will go in reverse order:

The Day off: Around these parts at Shakespeare & Company (http://www.shakespeare.org/)  we have what is called THE day off. We call it THE day off because largely there is only one of them in any seven day cycle for contract employees. Contract employees are those who do not have a managerial, administrative or director (of) position. This means all of the education artists, production designers and craftspeople, the Food Services staff, the ticketing staff, the interns, the training faculty, and basically anyone else who isn’t maintenance, housekeeping or in a place we call the Miller Building. The Miller building is where the big stuff happens- Artistic decisions  financial decisions, marketing decisions,communication decisions, training and education decisions- all decisions- all important stuff. It’s a bee hive of trying to make art happen 11 months out of the year in the Berkshires. It’s a modern think tank. It’s a slightly dilapidated and beautiful shell of a building that holds the future of more than just the people we are, but also all of the future thousands of young artists and actors we will teach, the shows we will produce, the festivals we will satellite, the money we will raise in order to keep making art in this time, the lives we will continue to try to change, and the hearts we will continue to move.

So. With that being said, It is one day off. In that day I got a lot done. Sleeping an uncommonly long 10 hours (after making a fun old hip hop mix on Spotify the night before), spending three hours talking-fitting a sweater- pulling things for the house with a good friend, doing financial things, grocery shopping, starting laundry and then betting a message that (Surprise!!!!) I have an AUDITION in 20 minutes, finding a pair of nice pants in the laundry, throwing them on, zooming to the company- auditioning (doing Come civil night (Juliet)), doing pretty well and feeling ok about it (I didn’t have time to get too nervous), starting laundry, driving wayward not-warmly-dressed workshop participants home from Laundromat  coming back to said laundry establishment, talking to a lovely guy named Tim for a bit, retrieving my red-headed buddy, zooming to the best pizza place in the world (http://www.babalouiespizza.com/), heading to a fun little wonderful place that seems to be home for us so often (http://www.yelp.com/biz/rumpys-tavern-at-the-village-inn-lenox) and then checking on a friend’s house, getting stuck on the sheet of ice driveway, getting pushed all of the way out, then sleeping by midnight. I would have loved one of those lay-about-all-day-and -just-rest days, but I honestly think I would get bored. Maybe I’ll grow into that some day. For now I have had two people whom I love call me a ‘Funny Creature’ in two day’s time. I’ll take that.

Preparing to pull away from the Berkshires– drive to my Raleigh, spend some stress-free time with lovely Caitlin, see folks who mean the world to me, see some bands, get my stuff… yada, yada, yada. Perhaps squander some Bojangles sweet tea. I love me some sweet tea. And if you know sweet tea, you know it doesn’t get sweeter than Bojangles. An offensively named establishment that does teeth-rotting tea right.

Checking the crazy card: I am pretty sure some seasonal depression has kicked in. This means a couple of things. Drink less, sleep more, avoid new relationships, avoid heartbreak, nuture, nuture, nuture, and then if all of that doesn’t work- go to the doctor and get some assistance (a means to move the boulder away). A wonderful friend left me prayer beads on my pillow last night. Maybe I’ll resume praying. It can never hurt. So- I’ve been feeling that lack of clarity- that cloud- as it begins. That persistent lack of laughter (And I can laugh, I tell you), the excessive sleeping, the lack of patience, the getting-the-feelings-hurt-more-often thing, the eating-less thing. Pretty textbook. It’s not terrible yet. It can get pretty terrible. I think it’s been happening since late November. So–ACTION NOW! Noone likes a sad bastard.

A birthday party! Let me be clear. Meeting new people is painful for me. I live on nerves at parties. But I did ok! Just like the audition I didn’t have time to prepare, so I just went as I was and celebrated the Great Travis Daly. I adore him, so it was easy. He’s such a happy guy and does so much for the Berkshires and kids. So, there was a party. He turned 30, so I made terrible jokes about his back going out every time he bent over. I have very seldom, if ever seen him frown. Inspirational, he is. Wonderful. I really like working for him.

Food. Yes. Pretty in Pink soup, Chicken and Dumplings, Parsnips, Squishy on the Inside Soup and more. For now I will just talk about these. Let me be straight. I don’t like cooking complex carbs for people who have extreme issues with appearance, health, and sustainability in a 14 hour workday. They will crash two hours after the meal, get hungry hours before dinner, overeat at Dinner, crash during the evening in a horrible food coma and not enjoy the work. So- knowing they had an easy night on Elizabethan World Picture Day- I WENT FOR IT with Caitlin. I made a carby feast. It was the night before THE day off.

Chicken and Dumplings from scratch. We made those Chicken and Dumplings our bitch. And they are easier than you think. Time consuming, but easy. Get some Bisquick ready, essentially cut Chicken into large chunks, make a yummy broth with sauteed carrots, celery, and onion- add CUMIN, salt. pepper, Chipoltle, GARLIC, pepper, add a crap ton of veggie stock, add chicken, simmer for 12 minutes, drop each teaspoon of dumpling batter into simmering concoction, let simmer for another 15 or so (BEWARE! Dumplings will BLOW UP like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man! Use a BIG pot!) What you will have is a yummy gooey feast for any potential Southerner. We heard screams of joy from the food line. ALSO- Caitlin made Gingerbread from scratch. This is no joke. It took forever, but Holy God was it good. She also whipped cream to go on top. Yes, she is single. You are welcome.

Pretty in Pink Soup– Roasted Beets, Parsnips, Rosemary, Chipoltle, Garlic, Salt, Brown Sugar, Cloves, Nutmeg, Pepper, throw it in the Cuisinart, and it is FUCHSIA! And Yummy.

Parsnips! Chop 25 pounds of them up! Put them in two hotel pans! Add a concoction of Honey, Maple Syrup, Cranberry Juice, Orange Juice, Basil, Salt and Garlic. Roast for 50 minutes. Voila! Yum!

AND THE DRUM BEATS ON. Life has happened, death has happened, I will continue to try to love in earnest, check the crazy card, pile high the joy and come to the table with all of those whom I love.

Not a whit, we defy augury. There is special providence in
the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to
come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come—the
readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is’t
to leave betimes, let be.

-Hamlet

%d bloggers like this: