Mother’s Dilled Potatoes
2/28/10 • Categorized as Food PoetryMOTHER’S DILLED POTATOES
The potato is a most comforting vegetable. —the Silver Palate Cookbook

Twenty-four tiny, scrubbed red
potatoes :
boiled, dried : combine with
butter :
melted, seasoned to taste : just
salt & pepper :
serve at once, after tossing with
dill.
*
I.
Sound is stuck in her pot of potatoes :
steam clanks copper top against body,
till its froth bubbles over & crackles :
brief it burns, shrill buzz & furious heat,
before it crusts on the stovetop : soiled
old Idaho Golds, like mud-crusted hippos
left in the sun too long, sit imprisoned
in her Chinese porcelain bowl : on which
blue dragons battle, blow blue fire, torching
the kitchen in quietude : no sanctuary at all.
II.
Mother says, 8 tablespoons of sweet butter :
it’s directed at me, but I refuse to speak
the language of recipes : all imperatives,
few outcomes surpass disaster : what’s a
tablespoon of butter? Furthermore, what the
hell is sweet butter? Is there some real difference?
She says, cooking’s not a game of chance : but,
I prefer to imagine it a gamble : the rules,
followed in faith, make the meals inevitable :
but, no recipe can populate a dining table.
III.
Spice rack stocked : sea salt & black pepper
is all she uses : infuses melted sweet butter
with sound : wooden mills grind, relentless :
season to taste : but, all we’ll taste is pepper :
black bits of bite & sting : & there’s salt for
the wounds they’ll make : even pumice stone
could never cleanse our palates, crusted with
cracked pepper : as corns cloistered up, we’re
stuck between the silence & teeth of her mill :
she hopes we’ll fall where our places are set.
IV.
At the window, she spies on sprigs of dill :
it grows furious & needs so little attention :
she takes care to not forget it’s there : she
sits in that garden before most dinners : &
most days, I think she prays out there : or,
curses : potatoes : a most comforting vegetable :
rather, tubers : orbs of starch, misshapen :
mother bends her days around simple wishes :
potatoes tossed in fresh dill : melted butter :
salted, peppered : a family dinner : served at once.
Poem by guest writer Jack Snyder, an MFA student at George Mason University.


