November 17: Elizabeth Alexander, "Butter," Bounty

Butter 

by:  Elizabeth Alexander

My mother loves butter more than I do,
more than anyone. She pulls chunks off
the stick and eats it plain, explaining
cream spun around into butter! Growing up
we ate turkey cutlets sauteed in lemon
and butter, butter and cheese on green noodles,
butter melting in small pools in the hearts
of Yorkshire puddings, butter better
than gravy staining white rice yellow,
butter glazing corn in slipping squares,
butter the lava in white volcanoes
of hominy grits, butter softening
in a white bowl to be creamed with white
sugar, butter disappearing into
whipped sweet potatoes, with pineapple,
butter melted and curdy to pour
over pancakes, butter licked off the plate
with warm Alaga syrup. When I picture
the good old days I am grinning greasy
with my brother, having watched the tiger
chase his tail and turn to butter. We are
Mumbo and Jumbo's children despite 
historical revision, despite
our parent's efforts, glowing from the inside
out, one hundred megawatts of butter. 
_____________________________

Can't get around it:  one of the things everyone focuses upon around Thanksgiving is food.  After all, the holiday is all about giving thanks for the bounty in your life.  Food.  Friends.  Family.  The smell of turkey cooking in a steaming kitchen.  Pies sitting out on the back porch with Cool Whip, waiting for dessert.  Five people, chopping vegetables, setting out silverware and plates.  Glasses of wine.  And laughter and jokes and old stories.

This poem reminds me of all of that, and that's why I love it.

Saint Marty is kind of a sucker for butter, too.