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 About This Author 
My name is Joy, and I love to write. 
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
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	 Green Peas at Stake  #580924 added April 22, 2008 at 11:37pm Restrictions: None	 
	In the Kitchen (Dew Drop 22) 
	In the Kitchen 
 
In the kitchen, Mira 
--my friend from India--  
soaks tamarind,  
balancing homesickness  
with cooking and poetry. 
Hard working, efficient, 
she rises and falls again 
like the dough or the pain 
of searching for the best 
paprika in the market, beating 
the eggs and simmering her opinions. 
Her cravings widen the dance 
of my thoughts and send them 
spiraling to other people  like 
my grandmother, aunts, women 
from all over the globe  who 
distill memories in 
cups, spoons, torte pans, gadgets, 
Pyrex pans, non-stick roasters 
that stick to recall as they 
are towed to the island 
in the middle of the kitchen.  
They interpret recipes and  
trying moments 
they've allowed to marinate, 
and I fluff up to take in  
all their aches and memories,  
tasting, trusting  
the soft, wise voices 
gifted with metaphor.  
 
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