Sweet Salt, Seagulls, Flamingos, At the Grocery Store
Worker bees, the bees who collect pollen are female. Transform pollen into honey.
Before black sage blooms it looks like a succulent. Cold, and hard as if from the mesozoic era and then from its circle of leaves appear purple blossoms.
Black sage grows in the deserts of Southern and Baja California. While collecting pollen from its flowers, half the hive may die from the heat and lack of water. In a spoonful, you can taste the hovering desperation of the bees without hydration.
To make bread the only ingredients you need are: water, flour, yeast, and salt.
Bread in Tuscany is made without salt. One story blames the lack of salt in Tuscan bread to widespread poverty in the Middle Ages, poverty in which salt was too expensive a commodity.
Tuscan bread or pane tuscano is known throughout Italy for being unsalted, sciocco. This words also means: silly, foolish, stupid, daft, insipid, tasteless, nitwit, noodle.
Cooks rely on salt to preserve meat. Enhance flavor.
A Czech fairy tale begins: A king had three daughters. He asked them how much they loved him. The eldest replied, more than gold. The middle, more than silver and all the jewels in the world. The youngest said, I love you more than salt.
Seagulls, Flamingos, Atwater
Crouching on the curb in atwater
Seagulls circling above us.
What are they doing here, we wonder, there’s no water.
I tell them to fly west.
There’s flamingos in the middle of Bolivia, I say.
The sun is glaring.
Cacti overflow from a green dumpster.
They visit a lake in the Andes, surrounded by miles and miles of land, standing on one foot.
And you replied:
Yes, I always wonder if they switch the feet they are standing on.
When we drive away we remember the LA river.
Seagulls come even where water is scant.
At the Grocery Store
Los Angeles is hot in February.
A woman crossing the street holds an umbrella.
When customers walk inside the fan above them blows their hair in different directions.
They compose themselves, straighten their locks, caress oranges, cradle lettuce heads.
A man rushes in, helmet under his arm.
Some sparkling water and some still, please.
He totters out, his bike shoes clinking against the floor.
Two girls in sundresses order popsicles.
The popsicles melting as they pay.
A mother holding her baby panics when he begins to cry.
She leaves the father to finish the transactions.
In the evening the paces slows.
People buy the essentials: milk, eggs, bread.
Someone takes all eight of the brioche buns, what’s left of the white bean salad too.
The sun set.
A neighbor comes in, even after the store is closed.
Some water, please. I live upstairs and I don’t have any water. I’ll pay in cash, but please some water.
The cashier consents, begins closing duties.