Hot Peppers

In memory of my grandfather.

He limped towards the shack

As evening shadows followed all the way,

Set down the hoe, companion of the day,

And from the thorny flesh of prickly pears

He plucked four fruits,

He plucked them with bare hands,

My old grandpa, for me to enjoy

 

The old bowl, hand-carved from steely brier,

Was resting on the creaky, unsteady bench;

Its surface, black from age, oil and spice

Was waiting for the company of a meal

 

I sat on the log stool by the right side

Watching the salad drop into the bowl:

White onions, red tomatoes, basil green,

The hot peppers relished by grandpa,

A piece that found its rest on the clay floor

 

I cringed when I saw that fiery green

My taste buds recalled its painful sting;

I hesitated, but hunger gave me nerve,

I took tomatoes pieces I thought untouched

By the dreaded green, had no success;

I sipped water after every bite,

But from the heat my tongue had no respite

 

When the bowl resumed its peaceful rest,

My grandpa brushed the prickly pears

And cut them into thick and juicy slices

“Eat them,” he said, with the sweetest smile

“They will refresh your mouth just for a while.”

 

Years have now gone by

My grandpa is watching from above

As I cut tomatoes into a gleaming bowl

In the spotless kitchen of my home

No onions or hot peppers are in sight,

Only tomatoes, and to my taste are mild;

Then I remember, as my taste buds delight:

I wish my tongue could feel the old stinging bite   

Reviews

[Robert Haigh]

A warmly written poetic tribute to your grandfather. Family memories can be so precious! Sadly, I never knew either of my grandfathers. One died long before I was born, and the other died when I was just 14-months old.

[peppino ruggeri]

Thank you. Sorry you were not as lucky as I was.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I had to smile when reading this delightful poem. I was reminded of my grandmother who loved to cook. An old Guatemalan indigenous woman who perfected the art of Mexican cuisine. Especially in the sauces and salsas of biting hot taste. She would literally eat habanero peppers like they were candy. And taught me the same. It brought me closer to understanding the myriad cultures that define me. Thank you for sharing your poem with us.