Finding God in My Italian Leftovers

by Randi Janelle

I was going to read during lunch
and thought better of it.
Be present, instead!

Suddenly
(AND ALWAYS)
God is in my Italian leftovers!

The fresh spinach I threw in
as my LightBody “light” food
is alive with cells on the underside.
I can see them defined
by the oil pooling sheen
of reheating the cream sauce.
It’s invited the gloss of guides
as cellular geometry
magnifying the sacred
of our every day.

The mushrooms are less vivaciously patterned
and probably more dense,
considering they’ve sprung from dead material,
but they are no less fecund
than the moment…
Oh, how appropriately Phoenix-like of them!
If we are to die,
is it not to deny
the life queuing behind?

The artichoke has fragmented
to a singular sheaf
after multiple stabs of fork and knife.
So lonely outside its
Heart of Whole.
Still, light penetrates past this illusion
of segregation.
Instead, it contemplates
the striation
of perspective as purpose.

The bow tie pasta
ties it all together:
the box
to the delivery
to the factory
to the reaper
to the planter
to the wheat
to the Earth
to the rain
to the sun
to the entire
orchestration
of the universe.
The bowtie pasta
ties it all together–
a history of matter
in its making.

Oh, and the bread!
My god, the bread!
Teeth sink into the spongy constitution
as soul syncs with metaphor!
Porous gateways to interpaneric travel,
through diversity of form.
This human ingenuity–
a masterpiece
of microbial collaboration
with yeast:

Baked Flour
Blooms as God.

We are all.
Textures of crust and soft soul,
our stench of wort
worth our weight in golden mean.
Torn as form, squished, challenged
condensed, bitten, and ultimately a mouthful
Art as the Words.

We separate
claim our stake
and conglomerate.
Like the romantic Roman potions
recreated on the aluminum takeout tray
ultimately dissipates
into energy.
As with body
and always in spirit.

I sop up the oil with the last of the bread.
Sweet Jesus, that was transcendental!
Thank you, Italy, for your influence
and every component of energy
in this meal–
from the Big Bang
to Travinia Kitchen & Wine Bar
in Biltmore Park.

And thank you to my guidance
for suggesting I put down the book
to experience the poetry
of lunch.