It's the Giants vs. the Pats--but you know that...unless you rely on this blog for your sports updates.
Greg's much better at that than I am. And
Ada's process is awesome.
We're going to skip the fantastic breakfast I made (sunny-side eggs with Irish Gouda, Swiss, Corned beef and bagette), and cut straight to the chase:
Yeah. 12 bottles:
To flavor 5lb.s of wingy goodness:
AND...
The closer bowl is Teriyaki, the other BBQ. Matt makes these weekly for the games we watch at his place. He's also a fantastic poet. If his skill set ends there, that's fine with us:
As if this wasn't enough, somewhere around half-time of the Giants game, a 3-layer red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting arrived. But not just any Red Velvet cake; this was
Tayari Jones's Red Velvet cake. Matt approved:
Those responsible for the cake (Heather, Lil and Dana of the Poetry Workshop) rejoiced as we gorged. Better pictures of the
cake are here.
...then the
calzones arrived.
A poem? Ok. This one from Ed Pavlic's
Labors Lost Left Unfinished.
Come Sunday
Eyebrows aflame,
you sketched what moved in the window
when rain rose in sheets
& green warned everyone off obsidian
streets. Torch-tip pleas
wore thru to abandon in unmade
beds so crowded we tied ourselves to posts.
Wrung out & pinned to the line,
call if red sky slapped on mornings's open palm.
A trade in new weight, a heartbeat
of molten glass arcs into a wide-open mouth.
In the courtyard, a Sunday-bested little boy catches
glee-drops from lace
panties hung above. One in the eye washed
bright as blindness. Quick breath
of clean steel, a sunbeam touched the wind on the ass.
Call it a mouthful of tremble,
a minor chord hymns his throat. If you can hear
an aftertaste of what's to come, cream
billows the neighbor's coffee,
a new-born baby girl upstairs & the most delicate
lungs of chaos. Until we talk
about the night I sat naked on the dock,
tell me it was cold
rain on my back, tell me it was the lake beneath the dark
rippled line on your brow.
