| Ellen Skilton |
When Maslow charted the human
hierarchy of needs
he labeled food a mere necessity
but what my taste buds touch
fuels more than digestion,
each morsel part of an olfactory aria
that hums through all the homes
where my table has been set
for palate pleasures
and the minor chords that bind us
Jumbled joy and homemade aromas
In beet-juice lipstick and rouge
on my toddler face
those lamb chops I keep pleading for
and the Monday night steak dinners
the orangest of orange Fanta
and Bossa Nova playing
baked potatoes joining sour cream and butter
dancing alongside roasted onions
blue cheese dressing flirting with creamy French
That peanut butter and butter sandwich
leaves a patina of heartburn hues
over the thrill of a thirteen candled birthday cake –
a sleepover cacophony,
and kickball in the church basement
midnight pizza dough stuck to the ceiling
after truth or dare leaves us unsteady,
famished for the daytime contours of friendship –
those pop songs of the afternoon radio
less audible in the haze of the night
Pumpkin, lemon poppy seed, banana lime coconut
quick breads singing love songs on Saturday mornings
or gift-wrapped under a tinseled tree
decaf earl grey and hot cocoa carols
warming the throat and smoothing the edges
dark chocolate dreams whispering secrets
in bittersweet harmonies
I could sing in my sleep
Ellen Skilton is a professor of education whose creative writing has appeared in The Dewdrop, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Scapegoat Review, and The Dillydoun Review. In addition to being a poet, she is an educational anthropologist, an applied linguist and a Fringe Fest performer. She is in the second year of an MFA Program in Creative Writing at Arcadia University. She is also an excellent napper, a chocolate snob, a swimmer, and lives in Philadelphia with a dog named Zoomer, a cat named Katniss and some lovely humans.
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