[Ashley Bowen]

Cooking for One

I measured how much of you was left
each time I stepped onto the scale, my weight

170, one-tenth of which I ledgered to your ghost.
For years, I bargained to bring you back, conjured you

with champagne and prosciutto to feel your presence
all around me. Each time I baked a cake and fingered

your name into the frosting, I felt as if I’d gone
to church but left before redemption rose to take me.

I confess: I used a Ouija board. I was gluttonous.
I piped your likeness onto petit fours. I assembled your temple

with stacks of chocolate wrappers, my rotten enamel
the outcome of my prayers. The bible lists the Deadly Sins but never

what we’ll see after something irreversible
has happened. Heart disease, hardening of the arteries.

Only when I gave up sugar did I starve you from returning.
Those last seventeen pounds, so hard to shed, and Hell,

an oven of my own lighting, crème brûlée, walls rich with icing.

[John Boddie]

Ashley – I think this is first-class work in both concept and execution. I’d pay good money for a chapbook that had this piece in it.

No effort is needed to understand who the speaker is – the reader can easily place herself (or himself) in that position. The details fit together like Lego blocks. The close is strong without a need to be shocking.

I stumbled on my first reading with the enjambment between S6 and S7. I tried out several alternatives, but couldn’t find anything that seemed to be better.

If you send this out for publication, send it somewhere good.

Thank you for posting.

JB

[Jim Moonan]

.
I echo John's comments. It's a perfectly concocted recipe of love's memories. I sometimes think of the act of writing poetry as being something like that of writing a recipe. It is not far-fetched to think that a book of poems could be viewed as a recipe book.

There was a US commercial released a while back that gave me that lump in the throat that this poem gives me. Here it is. (Warning: it is unabashedly schmaltzy — watch to the end.)

But to be clear, your poem is anything but schmaltzy.

Thanks for posting this one.


.

[Joe Crocker]

Love, food and fat. The eternal triangle. Beautifully crafted.

[Paula Fernandez]

Ashley--
Just to add to the chorus of sincere appreciation. Love your word choices and images--the use of "ledgering" weight to a ghost, assembling the temple with chocolate wrappers. So many others. Felt this one deeply.

[John Riley]

I like this. The conceit is just right and measured correctly. Strong poem.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Ashley—

A very brave, masterfully controlled study of grief and the ways we sometimes torture ourselves in our misguided attempts to find comfort. I’m glad you found a way to shed those seventeen pounds.

Glenn

[Ashley Bowen]

Oh, my. I'm blushing here from reading these responses to this piece. I'm delighted, considering this is the first thing I've written in three years after that same number of years of personal anguish.

Glenn: Thank you so much for your kind words on this. I wish I had, fully, lost those 17 pounds. Hahaha!

Joe: Thanks for stopping in to comment. Much appreciated.

John: Thanks for popping in and offering your kind words.

Paula: Thank you, thank you. I have to admit that when "ledgering" came to me like a verbal gift, I felt this poem really come alive. I felt like I was onto something at that moment.

Jim: Thanks for the kind, kind words and the link to the commercial. I'd never seen it before, but I loved the rendition of Elvis' song (which is one of my fave Elvis songs). Thank you!

John: Thank you so much. I would love for this poem to appear in a magazine somewhere. I promise that if I get the courage to send it out, I'll send it someplace good. Thanks again!

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by John Boddie

The details fit together like Lego blocks.

Originally Posted by Jim Moonan

It's a perfectly concocted recipe of love's memories.

Originally Posted by John Riley

The conceit is just right and measured correctly.

Originally Posted by Glenn Wright

A very brave, masterfully controlled study of grief

Ashley, sorry for showing up late. I’m a metrical man myself, but somehow the structure of this poem—its fit/concoction/ measure/control—more than makes up for the rhyme and meter I normally crave. I guess another way of putting it is that non-met can feel a little random to me without rhyme and meter to tell me it’s right the way it is. But your poem feels just right without formal support. It makes me want to try writing a non-met poem.

[Ashley Bowen]

Hi, Carl. What a nice compliment. I'm so glad that you found something to like here and something that made you want to try writing a different kind of poems.

My thanks!