POETRY MONTH DAY # 13 — THE CHEESE STANDS ALONE

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Lucky 13, is today's date. Almost half-way through the month. How's everyone doing?

Like many of us, I turn to food for comfort during trying times, and I can tell I'm succeeding in the comfort department by how not comfortable my jeans are getting! Yesterday, after reading several of my friend Jane Byers' blog posts on the meals she's been creating thanks to the Whitewater Cooks series of cookbooks, I was moved to make the Christmas Breakfast Strata from the latest in the series, Whitewater Cooks More Beautiful Food, a delicious concoction of sautéed vegetables, eggs, milk, and three different kinds of cheese combined with  torn-up croissants. Being the carnivore I am, I un-vegetarianed it by adding strips of Black Forest ham. It's touted as a Christmas dish because you make it a day ahead so it's ready to pop in the oven first thing in the morning when you might be otherwise occupied. Today, it's an Easter Monday Breakfast Strata!

A poem in a dish! 

Ted, looking forward to digging in. On another note, do you think we need haircuts?

Today, NaPoWriMo suggests we "write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen. Maybe it’s something as small as your sister’s hairbrush (or maybe it was your sister’s boyfriend!) Regardless, I hope this sly prompt generates some provocative verse for you." 

In keeping with the Christmas theme born at breakfast, I think I'll go here:


The Cheese Stands Alone

It is true that I ate the silky blue cheese
my sister gave you for Christmas
from the tony specialty cheeses store.

I thought it was something
you didn't particularly like
and as it turned out, I particularly did.

I didn't eat it all at once, however,
so you might have noticed
the white paper it was wrapped in

shrinking from a fat little package
to a flat, crumpled envelope
over the course of the week.

I expect it would have gone well
with the Prosecco we uncorked
on New Year's Eve,

the smooth, sharp wedges
brought to room temperature
and smeared on a snap of cracker

a contrast to the champagne's
fruity spray of bubbles,
but we'll never know.

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