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Valerie Ciolek

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Ghosts don't offer real food
by Valerie Ciolek

Thursday, October 27, 2011
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Valerie Ciolek
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           >> View all 18

Maybe you should not expect the ghosts to feed you . . . .

Up and Down the Avenue
Out in the cold
All day long
But it doesn’t matter . . .
A door opens . . .

On top of the stairs
Getting hit with
The smell from the cooking pots . . .
Kiełbasa, Kapusta, Gołąbki
The sound of many people
Talking and laughing
Eating and drinking
“Sit down . . . eat . . . eat . . . eat . . . “
“Wejdź . . . Usiądź . . . Wyjeść . . . . “

I walk the Avenue
No doors open
To 2nd story flats
But I still hear
The talking and laughing

My empty stomach still
Growls on the anticipation
When I trace my steps
From decades ago

My feet
Somehow find the Vendlin
Run by new wave of immigrants
That is old already
And replaced by newer waves
That moved further out
To the new neighborhood
I’ve never been too

Hot soup and bread is served
In the dark room in the back
Familiar smells from the cooking pots
Kiełbasa, Kapusta, Gołąbki

Totally stuffed
I walk back out
Into the street

~Copyright Valerie Ciolek~

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Reviewed by RWE SAYS BYE 10/27/2011
signature line speaks volumes... sumptuous imagery rounds out this superb morsel, a savory fare indeed.

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