bay leaves
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The Poetic Palate
Are we the only animal that composes, and makes poetry, eats it, and, in the end, after the joy of having eaten it, rejoices in looking at what is left, still seeing poetry?.
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A Bay Leaf reinterpreted
I grew up in a Cuban-Puerto Rican household, where bay leaves are ever present, although they always seem to appear in large pots, seemingly lost, somewhat irrelevant in their unimpressive dark hues, yet resilient in maintaining their shape through hours in oils on the hearth, swimming obstructed by a variety of bones, chunks, and beans…
Sila Blume 