Ambiguous as olives,
often treated as a vegetable,
the humble field tomato,
with its pungent acid scent,
takes me back to packing crates
assembled in a farmer's shed,
back to fields where globes
glowed red among the aromatic
leaves; takes its place on tables
set for summer meals beside the sea,
where tomatoes bled in bowls,
cheek by jowl with briny olives.
Sauces, salsa, juices, rich
vermilion steaming in a pan
to complement the slightly
bitter aftertaste of aubergine;
render mushrooms tender
and less bland; fresh basil
in my hand; familiar fragrances,
Aegean recipes, a foreign land…
Less honoured than the pomegranate,
though quite similar in form,
concealing in its compact,
softer sphere as many fleshy seeds,
seen as less mysterious,
tomatoes are not goddess-fruit,
and yet, with olives, feta cheese
and cucumbers, they make a feast.
Ode to the tomato
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2006
Свидетельство о публикации №106102200635
Свидетельство о публикации №106102200635
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