Favorite Things

Each morning I attempt to listen to the “Writers Almanac” on NPR. Garrison Keillor gives some daily fun facts from the literary world and reads a poem. I find it quite soothing and today was especially so as it was about one of my favorite foods, pasta. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


Linguini
by Diane LockwardWhat Feeds Us)
It was always linguini between us.
Linguini with white sauce, or red sauce,
sauce with basil snatched from the garden,
oregano rubbed between our palms,
a single bay leaf adrift amidstplum tomatoes.
Linguini with meatballs,sausage, a side of brascioli.
Like lovers trying positions, we enjoyed it every way we could
artichokes, mushrooms, littleneck clams, mussels,
and calamari-linguini twining and braiding us each to each.
Linguini knew of the kisses, the smooches, the molti baci.
It was never spaghetti between us, not cappellini, nor farfalle,
vermicelli, pappardelle, fettucini, perciatelli, or even tagliarini.
Linguini we stabbed, pitched, and twirled on forks,
spun round and round on silver spoons.
Long, smooth, and alwaysal dente.
In dark trattorias, we broke crusty panera,
toasted each other—La dolce vita!—and sipped Amarone,
wrapped ourselves in linguini,
briskly boiled, lightly oiled, salted, and lavishedwith sauce.
Bellissimo, paradisio, belle gente!
Linguini witnessed our slurping, pulling, and sucking, our unraveling and raveling, chins glistening, napkins tucked like bibs in collars,
linguini stuck to lips, hips, and bellies, cheeks flecked with formaggio
—parmesan, romano,and shaved pecorino—
strands of linguini flung around our necks like two fine silk scarves.