cooking with fig and papaya.

every year
i try again
to like
fresh figs and papaya

the concentrated
sweetness of their
dried counterparts
i can handle

but the soft,
mawkish flesh
and feeble, diluted
flavour… it thwarts me.

i have always
found some of
my most vivid
memories are knitted
to scents and the
sight of those meals
we made

laksa and miso
too big for
my tiny cheap pots
with every vegetable
we could stomach

lentils and dahl
and the infamous
soup mix
drenched in only
the finest olive oil
despite our pauper

chilli on everything
garlic on everything
kale smoothies
sweet potato…
as a grain
goats yoghurt.
all yoghurt.
and wine.
and more cheese.
and more wine.

so many food
they do not make me hungry
but they make me smile.



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