John Dorroh has never fallen into an active volcano or caught a hummingbird. But he did bake bread with monks in Salzburg and drink their beer. Two of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net, and others have appeared in Feral, OsPressan, Tilde, and Selcouth Station.
The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by John Dorroh and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Eating Greek & Earning Miles
I’m eating Greek food and earning miles,
the flaming halloumi cheese too hot for my lips.
I eat it anyway, cooling them with my second
Greek martini, which I never saw the summer
I lived on the island. Perhaps I didn’t venture out
enough. I was too engaged with the savatiano,
that red luscious restino wines, the limoncello
we sipped after dinner.
I’m smearing hummus all over my tongue, chewing
the flesh off a kalamata pit, praying that I can make it
to the baklava. You swoon me, gyro plate, with your
meaty chunks of lamb on the spit, showered with
spices and mild sweet pepper dust. You whisk me
back to Mykynos, to Ilo, to Patros and the deep blue
waters, the Greek crabs and fish – the salmonidae
and percidae, fragrant colossal lemons and limes,
stacks of puffy pita and plates of dolamades.
I eat tonight and drink like a god, knowing that
in the not-too-distant future, I’ll redeem my miles
and fly into paradise Paradise once again.
Patrice Wilson is a retired professor of English, Hawaii Pacific University. Her publications include three chapbooks with Finishing Line Press; one full-length poetry collection with eLectio Publishing; and poems in many literary journals. She was born in NJ, and has lived in NC, CT, MD, VA, and in Hawaii for many years. She now resides in Mililani, on Oahu, and is currently writing a chapbook of poems about Hawaii, where she has been active in the literary community. Visit Patrice on the web here.
The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by Patrice Wilson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Even when we knew
the earth is as small
in the Universe
as any one person
breathing, living here,
enjoying a sunrise
on a bench by the Bay,
long dark hair
blown back in a breeze,
a young woman,
a ring on her finger,
a tiny diamond in it,
remembering her visit
to Mount Fuji
Then a drive
To spend the night
with a friend, say, the night
of August 5, 1945–
to shop next day
and to see city sights
once more, in spite of war–
even then, we had not yet
realized the powerful price
we pay for mortality.