Ode to a Sun-Dried Tomato

Gently kissed by the sun,

You are like the light sprinkling of fairy dust

That creates a midsummer night’s mayhem.

You are the harbinger of that perfect wine-drenched afternoon

Redolent of the aromas of a Neapolitan kitchen.

You add a certain je nais sais quoi

To plates across the world.

Bottled to preserve the sunshine,

Your Midas touch

Transforms a modest slice of bread

Into an expensive dish with an unpronounceable name.

Like an artist’s palette,

You infuse colour and life

Into the smoked and dried winter meats.

Bringing a hint of summer artistry

Into the empty, grey canvas of December.

A little brown paper bag full of joy,

You, my lovelies,

Are the esoteric fifth element;

Of fragile terrines,

Of fragrant swirls of handcrafted pastas,

Of rich and mysterious sauces,

Of crisp garden salads,

Of beautiful meaty casseroles

And of dainty hors d’oeuvres

A delicate creature of whimsy,

You are crushed by men with deft fingers.

This little act of violence

Leaves little slivers of red trim in its wake.

You vanish without a trace

Down the serpentine belly of the city

All that remains is 

A dark red seed, a bit of pink skin

Along with crusty ends of   

Wood-fired pizzas

And drippings of cheese

On smooth wooden table tops

In warm attic cafes

Along cobbled alleys

In the markets of my city.