Kitchen | Tansy Troy

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I am in the kitchen, thinking,

waiting for the second pot of giant pasta –

conchiglioni- to boil.

I have spectacularly burnt the first lot,

absorbed as I was under autumn sun

with poets,

drawing in through my dark glass eye

non-digital India,

Corona love letters

wild feathers, bright embers,

falling upwards, as ash...

…and while the first pot of pasta burns,

I am thinking.

Sometimes your head

does not quite connect

to your body, my Mother declares

when I have given birth

to a first, still, baby.

Still weeping blood for this lost one,

I run down tunnels of European stations

dragging cases full of river stones…

You’re right. Head does not

always connect to body,

dearest Mother. Did yours?

We have been hard schooled in intellect,

made to believe that thought and word

are the highest forms of Art.

Don’t take too much notice of the physical!

Body is merely the earthly vehicle.

Do not get caught up in its intricacies.

Think instead of the Body of Work

you are here to deliver.

I muse some more, sampling titbits

somewhat shy about giving myself

completely to own verse.

After a few more hundred years

of carelessly leaving out my soul

sprawled on someone or other’s verandah

lost as a cardigan, stray dupatta,

I wonder

if there’s really

any sanctity

in meta tongue of exchange.

Words that pass between us

beneficial,

or simply prompt

to some more, eventually filling

another slim volume

ardently awaiting its turn to be bound,

held, read, fondled, discussed, gossiped over,

clean forgotten?

I stare out of the kitchen window.

Monkey fists past, on her way

to pull pears.

Better to establish

a multispecies tongue.

Animals push us further towards

the heartfelt inchoate,

each meow-bark-hiss-snarl

real and felt.

The conchiglioni is done to perfection.

Chop chop fresh green beans,

melt butter,

sprinkle on handful of

Himalayan cheese.

Decide to learn to pounce,

curl, wash, observe.

Democracy of activity will fulfil

every one of my diverse bodies,

the fleshly, astral and atman.