Polenta

Artist: Lane Chasek

My grandma—always at her most lovable
when the polenta fogged her glasses.

When you think you’re done stirring, she said,
keep stirring. Then stir some more.

Stir
until your wrists, body, stomach
ache from the hunger and waiting.

Time was, the whole family awaited a mouthful of that corn pap,
pan-seared or fresh from the wooden spoon
because all the mouths and stomachs back then
were void and expectant
as the dust bowl sky looming over the plains.

You’ll know it’s good when your wrist aches
and the sweat drips from your forehead
into the pot. Most things are finished once you hurt.

One evening, when the mushrooms and butter were scarce that season,
and all we had were stewed tomatoes to pour on top
of our corn mash, she admonished our whining, said,
Feel lucky, because you are. 

More at @LChasek