Caity's food writing page

revision exercises

caityiris — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 18:41:17 +0000

my revision exercises are posted on a new page- click the tab above

Week 5 workshop pieces

caityiris — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 22:22:40 +0000

Word document attached. For “Indigo” please listen to the song I posted- see below or click the “songs” category at right.

workshop week 5

Salt- revision

caityiris — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 22:14:16 +0000

Our salt
means old and new–
The tiniest shovel I’ve ever seen
lies in the blue-glazed salt cellar. It is
an heirloom, too small even for sugar cubes,
and looks fit for a dormouse to move individual lentils.
We found the salt cellar at the glassblower’s gallery, and it’s picky.
Only the best– imported Maldon. The square crystals look so magical
against the blue, though the larger ones fall from the shovel. We
scoop into our palms, and pinch, hard, between thumb and
forefinger. It sounds like shoveling snow too late
when it has turned to granita–cshh! and
sharp edges press diamonds into
our fingers as we
crumble.

Meditation at the TAM

caityiris — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 21:48:37 +0000

it’s a shame to close the curtains
on a moonlit night–
it can’t be right to shut out the light
of such a lovely incident

it can’t be right to ignore the sight
to hide inside from the wind and abide
by reason and the forecast

out there, they stare, a soul ensnared–
glittering ice floes in lovers’ throes
glide over ecstatic currents

looking up through twigs the moon is cobwebbed
draped with a dusty curtain of frost and cloud
she has thrown a diamond cloak over field and forest
and drawn a curtain of silence across the crystalline white night
–––––––––––––––––––––

mother draws closed the nursery curtains
through darkness creeps the deep deep sleep
a curtain of dreams drowns out the day

indigo (song included)

caityiris — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 04:14:26 +0000

you taste like dew on indigo plums I adore you
bake you gonna break you baby give me some more you
can try to analyze me but I swear I’m already gone

boysenberry huckleberry you are them all
midnight hues wines and blues pin me against the wall
every night rain or shine you were my alibi

sugared violets sweet and silent
rarities and fingerprints
tragedies and needless violence
come on baby, make it work again

medicinal original I don’t wanna talk about
how you made me fall out of myself when I did without
darling can you hear me through this long, long time

buckle up knuckle down baby don’t you mess around
honeysuckle cover me don’t you ever set me free
fickle trickle water tickle bring me a shiny nickel
spackle me tackle me; ramshackle hickory

you taste like dew on indigo plums I adore you
bake you gonna break you baby give me some more you
can try to analyze me but I swear I’m already gone, gone
yeah try to analyze me but I swear I’m already gone

————————-there should be a player below to hear the song…

Clatter (New York School poem)

caityiris — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 06:44:55 +0000

Who hung the curtains?
at home at noon on Wednesday Lyle Lovett singing
Your First Mistake and smoking
it was spring in New Orleans with guavas and rhododendrons and cicadas
falling from twigs
but February in Michigan
and at home a chickadee losing faithlessness
on South Main past the glassblowers’ gallery
There are speedboats crossing the Atlantic
and Johnny Depp playing lead guitar
ooh come on baby
and in Uruguay they’re still taking
those bad cholesterol meds and in my bedroom
I’m longing for Mars in a blue wool sweater
Calvin Klein hating celery
and the square garlic skyline is bluegrass
to an armadillo
in Ecuador the tortoises won’t fit in the stockpot
and beside the window is an altered Polaroid
of a Shaker chair
Who laid the floor?

Week 4 workshop pieces

caityiris — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 06:32:09 +0000

word document here: workshop week 4

blood orange

caityiris — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 05:45:20 +0000

thick skin blushing proud and fearless
giving way to cobwebbed garnet
segments decorated like a butterfly’s wing
you’re sour I almost cry
and you taste like pomegranate
but you’re never arrogant
you’re joyful
and you’re dancing on my tongue

bruised apple

caityiris — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 05:43:28 +0000

yes you have places that are softer
than an apple should be
and you’re dented
you’ve been dropped
and spent the afternoon in my satchel
crashing against a thermos
I’m sorry

but you’re lovely
speckled skin that’s green
and gold and red at once
and you smell like
November afternoons
at the monastery orchards

Wheatgrass

caityiris — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 02:23:15 +0000

tiny tips pushing up green green growing
spears and blades and you are delicate
young and new with breath like spring
easily bruising readily weeping you are
shapely and cunning you are
a Cheshire moon you are
a wood-nymph shedding dew-drop tears