The Sweetness We Come Upon
You don’t have to know the name of every chocolate
to relish the sweetness
cracked open from the crinkled
metallic paper, on the long subway ride home,
our arms filled with dinner, kabobs,
the hallway bubbling with lemony rice
with pine nuts, or a pumpkin bread
baked with apricot jam and rum.
We thought we had no family traditions
until my niece proudly stated,
gramma’s brownies!
I remember leftover desserts
wrapped in tinfoil swans;
extra crispy french-fries
served in a silver cone;
a rosette of oysters bathed in butter;
parsley; an oyster fork;
designer fruits: pluots;
and restaurants with ambiance.
She selected a restaurant
as if attending a theater performance,
eyeing production values in growing piles
of New York magazine, New York in italics
like Nirvana on the 15th floor
with its Indian hangings, incense,
tiny mirrors, candles reflecting
in the long horizontal window overlooking the park.
Recipes were titled after friends’ names:
Mary’s Soup, or Trudy’s chicken,
written on index cards in her recipe box.
I had tasted the spongy madeleine cookie
before I knew about Proust.
She baked them into their lemony seashell shapes.
I learned there’s nothing like a roast chicken
warm from the oven on a Sunday
while preparing for the next day’s commute.
Of course we dined at Sardi’s
and her favorite Italian place, Patsy’s;
their cookbook on her shelf.
I hear her and see her now
setting the round dining table
with fine China and silver butter plates
and miniature silver saltshakers.
On the side table awaits dessert:
fresh berries and cream with crème de cassis
to bring out the liqueur of the berries.
If you stopped by, she’d ask,
Would you like a taste?
When I asked what she wanted to be next,
she replied, I’d like to come back as a chef.
first appeared in: The Museum of Americana: A Literary Review
How to Braid Challah
I. Ingredients
You will be baking
with languages.
Russian, German,
and Yiddish
will suffice-
but contain
large quantities
of gluten--
II. Mixing the Dough
While you
knead the flour and yeast,
gathering strength
in your arms
and volume
in your voice!
Such heated
discussions
until the children
scream, Stop arguing!
and you retort
we are not arguing.
We are discussing
Aunt Ruthie
and your lost tooth
and Rachel’s
report card
and Zena’s last
doctor’s appointment
for TMJ
slap slapping down
turn turning it over
in the dough--
your conversations
rise, conflate.
III. Cutting and Braiding
Don’t forget to flour
the board every so often--
sweeping your hand
across the marble,
a clean slate.
IV. Optional
Brush with egg
white twice
so the loaves glisten-
once after
braiding
and again after
baking
in honor
of your
Russian
grandmother
who threw two
kisses, one
for each cheek;
or sprinkle
a Yinglish
of raisins,
or poppy seeds.
V. Serving the Challah
Invite oodles of people.
Tear off chunks.
Dance with your bread.
Let the crumbs
fall on the good tablecloth,
so be it.
This poem, originally published in Lilith, summer 2009, won the Charlotte A. Newberger Prize and was published in my book, Reder, Claudia. How to Disappear. Blue Light Press, 2019.
Orange
When my mother dies I purchase
an orange tea kettle
and cook with her orange Creuset pots
that counterscape my kitchen.
I dream her. She appears in that rift
between us as if it were a locale I am obliged to visit
amid the scent of a young onion.
The whip of egg whites
slaps the sides
of the shiny copper bowl.
In a cloud of steam
my mother raises her spoon
to taste the beef bourguignon
laced with burgundy,
or to sample the scampi.
She tucks the scallops St. Jacques
inside their clam shells.
Today I lift her seasoned wooden spoon
above the steaming lentils,
ready to add a touch of vinegar.
Forgiveness stirs the broth.
first published in How to Disappear, Blue Light Press, 2019.
Claudia M. Reder is the author of How to Disappear, a poetic memoir, (Blue Light Press, 2019). Uncertain Earth (Finishing Line Press), and My Father & Miro (Bright Hill Press). How to Disappear was awarded first prize in the Pinnacle and Feathered Quill awards. She was awarded the Charlotte Newberger Poetry Prize from Lilith Magazine, and two literary fellowships from the Pennsylvania Arts Council. She attended Millay Colony, NAPA Writers Conference and The Valley. She retired from teaching at California State University at Channel Islands and recently moved to Pittsburgh, PA. Main Street Rag will publish her book, Dizzying Words.
https://www.claudiareder.com/
https://yetzirahpoets.org/jewish-poets-database/
You don’t have to know the name of every chocolate
to relish the sweetness
cracked open from the crinkled
metallic paper, on the long subway ride home,
our arms filled with dinner, kabobs,
the hallway bubbling with lemony rice
with pine nuts, or a pumpkin bread
baked with apricot jam and rum.
We thought we had no family traditions
until my niece proudly stated,
gramma’s brownies!
I remember leftover desserts
wrapped in tinfoil swans;
extra crispy french-fries
served in a silver cone;
a rosette of oysters bathed in butter;
parsley; an oyster fork;
designer fruits: pluots;
and restaurants with ambiance.
She selected a restaurant
as if attending a theater performance,
eyeing production values in growing piles
of New York magazine, New York in italics
like Nirvana on the 15th floor
with its Indian hangings, incense,
tiny mirrors, candles reflecting
in the long horizontal window overlooking the park.
Recipes were titled after friends’ names:
Mary’s Soup, or Trudy’s chicken,
written on index cards in her recipe box.
I had tasted the spongy madeleine cookie
before I knew about Proust.
She baked them into their lemony seashell shapes.
I learned there’s nothing like a roast chicken
warm from the oven on a Sunday
while preparing for the next day’s commute.
Of course we dined at Sardi’s
and her favorite Italian place, Patsy’s;
their cookbook on her shelf.
I hear her and see her now
setting the round dining table
with fine China and silver butter plates
and miniature silver saltshakers.
On the side table awaits dessert:
fresh berries and cream with crème de cassis
to bring out the liqueur of the berries.
If you stopped by, she’d ask,
Would you like a taste?
When I asked what she wanted to be next,
she replied, I’d like to come back as a chef.
first appeared in: The Museum of Americana: A Literary Review
How to Braid Challah
I. Ingredients
You will be baking
with languages.
Russian, German,
and Yiddish
will suffice-
but contain
large quantities
of gluten--
II. Mixing the Dough
While you
knead the flour and yeast,
gathering strength
in your arms
and volume
in your voice!
Such heated
discussions
until the children
scream, Stop arguing!
and you retort
we are not arguing.
We are discussing
Aunt Ruthie
and your lost tooth
and Rachel’s
report card
and Zena’s last
doctor’s appointment
for TMJ
slap slapping down
turn turning it over
in the dough--
your conversations
rise, conflate.
III. Cutting and Braiding
Don’t forget to flour
the board every so often--
sweeping your hand
across the marble,
a clean slate.
IV. Optional
Brush with egg
white twice
so the loaves glisten-
once after
braiding
and again after
baking
in honor
of your
Russian
grandmother
who threw two
kisses, one
for each cheek;
or sprinkle
a Yinglish
of raisins,
or poppy seeds.
V. Serving the Challah
Invite oodles of people.
Tear off chunks.
Dance with your bread.
Let the crumbs
fall on the good tablecloth,
so be it.
This poem, originally published in Lilith, summer 2009, won the Charlotte A. Newberger Prize and was published in my book, Reder, Claudia. How to Disappear. Blue Light Press, 2019.
Orange
When my mother dies I purchase
an orange tea kettle
and cook with her orange Creuset pots
that counterscape my kitchen.
I dream her. She appears in that rift
between us as if it were a locale I am obliged to visit
amid the scent of a young onion.
The whip of egg whites
slaps the sides
of the shiny copper bowl.
In a cloud of steam
my mother raises her spoon
to taste the beef bourguignon
laced with burgundy,
or to sample the scampi.
She tucks the scallops St. Jacques
inside their clam shells.
Today I lift her seasoned wooden spoon
above the steaming lentils,
ready to add a touch of vinegar.
Forgiveness stirs the broth.
first published in How to Disappear, Blue Light Press, 2019.
Claudia M. Reder is the author of How to Disappear, a poetic memoir, (Blue Light Press, 2019). Uncertain Earth (Finishing Line Press), and My Father & Miro (Bright Hill Press). How to Disappear was awarded first prize in the Pinnacle and Feathered Quill awards. She was awarded the Charlotte Newberger Poetry Prize from Lilith Magazine, and two literary fellowships from the Pennsylvania Arts Council. She attended Millay Colony, NAPA Writers Conference and The Valley. She retired from teaching at California State University at Channel Islands and recently moved to Pittsburgh, PA. Main Street Rag will publish her book, Dizzying Words.
https://www.claudiareder.com/
https://yetzirahpoets.org/jewish-poets-database/
