1. Dishes
In the beginning, there were rocks—
some flat, some scooped concave
by erosion, perfect for holding hot
foods but not easily transported
from camp to cave. Tree bark did well
for a while, the clean-up was easy
as the greasy dinner plates could be thrown
into the fire after the meal,
the crackling burning fat adding sparkle
to the occasion. Then came pottery
and this led to my very own 12-place
set of fine china purchased by my parents
in post-war Tokyo when I was six
and presented to me when I was married.
Now the dishes everyone talks about
cling to rooftops and serve up TV.
And they are like toy teacups compared
to the really big ones that listen to the noise
of the galaxy and search for alien
life forms that have learned to make dishes.
2. Saltines
A simple food with humble origins,
unleavened bread rolled flat
and cut into squares, salt added for
flavor or possibly as a preservative—
not a food I would go out of my way
to invent if it did not exist, not one
I would miss much if it disappeared
though I admit it does have its uses
as something bland to balance
a seasick stomach, something with
bulk to extend thin soup, something
our mothers and grandmothers crumbled
and used in cooking out of habits learned
in the Great Depression when meat was
scarce. And in a pinch, saltines can be used as
communion bread, the body of Christ.
3. Goldfish
A popular name for carp, which can range
from the tiniest fishbowl size to those you
see in aquariums in Chinese restaurants
and bigger. I used to tease my kids who
were fascinated by aquatic puckering.
I asked if they had decided which one
they wanted for supper (I always think of that
when I eat those little snack fish)
but most amazing are those that grow enormous
and glide under lily pads in ponds where tourists put
quarters in machines that spit out a handful of fish food
for parents and children to toss into the clear water
to frenzy the fish for their nourishment and our
entertainment. And I remember how beautiful
were the goldfish kites and carp flags
the Japanese fly to honor their children.
4. Doorways
They are excellent for going out or coming in
but poorly suited for standing in or holding open
as this causes great irritation among those
concerned with keeping things in or out
(hot or cold air, children, bugs, secrets, criminals),
yet on the whole they are very practical and we
should be glad to have them, as opposed to having
to burrow or climb our way inside or outside.
You may have noticed, too, they can accommodate
most of us, all but the unfortunate few who must stoop
or inhale sharply to leave or enter and despite
the abundant supply, almost everyone has
some complaint about doorways that are closed to them.
And there is a great cultural clamoring
for keys of one sort or another.
5. Judgment of History
The path, we discover, is a simple circle after all,
with doorways, locked and open, strewn with rocks,
charred bark and broken dishes, goldfish both dead
and flopping. Turns out we’re all geniuses and idiots.
Towering trees grow from simple seeds, boulevards
begin as dirt paths. We are made from cosmic dust,
the poetry of life is floury not flowery. And when
we are most lost, we are just around the bend
from where we most belong.
First appeared in South Carolina Review
Richard Allen Taylor, Poet 