Merril D. Smith is a poet and historian. She's inspired by wobbling moons over the Delaware River, and she likes food, even in dreams. Her poetry and short fiction has been published recently in Black Bough Poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, Nightingale and Sparrow, Fevers of the Mind, and Sledgehammer.
Twitter: @merril_mds Instagram: mdsmithnj Website: merrildsmith.com
Blog: Yesterday and Today merrildsmith.wordpress.com
MERRIL D. SMITH
THIS IS NOT—AND IS
This is not a poem about pepperoni rolls,
or even the non-sausage rolls I make—
though I could tell how I make the pizza dough
from a recipe in Joy of Cooking; how I sauté
onions, garlic, and red pepper, then add spinach and spices to it, and layer it
with grated mozzarella on the rolled-out dough. How I fold it and seal it like a letter
holding secrets inside, some old and dried, and some fresh like the basil-- I’m sure you could smell it—if you were here--and if I was making it for you,
we’d drink some wine, red for me,
white for you, sipping it while the not-pepperoni and not-sausage rolls baked.
But this isn’t a poem about any of that—you know that, don’t you?