On Breaking My Fast
I fried an egg
This afternoon, as the sun
Snuck through the back porch windows,
Heard the crackle of the oil as it simmered,
Saw translucent white above the orb of yolk,
Sprinkled salt, pepper,
And grated Parmesan, just at the last moment
As my fork touches a pool of gold
I breathe in to smell the buttery wave
Like a Saturday morning
When Dad made French toast
Maybe joy tastes
Just like this
(c) 2022
More by Matthew Flaherty:
https://sfcpoets.com/2022/07/18/on-leaving-the-country/
Classic poetry inspired by food
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/collections/145091/poetry-and-food
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