A Recipe for Love

Open everything that is not and pour it in.



Heat gently.  When the fat sizzles,


cover and let simmer until tender.


Mix in all you are.  Knead it.


Let rise with the warmth of your touch.


Whisk until stiff.  Churn as long as it takes.


Layer joy upon joy.  Season to taste.


Make fresh from scratch.  There is always more to add.


Sweeten with syrup, coconut and wine.


Let the pot overflow.  Go ahead and make a mess.


Serve with heavy cream, dried cherries and cracked nuts.


When the aroma swells in your head, filling it


with dreams, and the spice laden steam stings


your eyes, it is time to feast.  Devour slowly


and savor every bite.  Leave no scraps for the pampered


animal that begs outside your door.  Leftovers never satisfy.


The recipe is always changing.  It never tastes the same.

Copyright 2010 by M. D. Friedman.
Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.

The Long Drive Home from a Gig at 3 AM

The pavement is not real.
The stars like salt
spilt on black velvet
show no sign of life,
stare like glass eyes from space.


Sugar Blue whines
and growls his hollow ache,
moans his hot harmonica wind
through brass and plastic,
charges the vacant night with longing.


Everyone who
ever plays, stretches
for that note
missing from the chord
that binds us.


Sugar digs it out, slams it
down on the rough road
like black ice, scrapes
it against raw face
like sand paper.


Inside the wrenching bend
cowers a persistent yearning,
a burning loneliness that drives
each fragile breath
we pass from lung to lung.


We roll alone down this road
of night that never ends,
tumble like a cage of seed and thorn,
from deep within our pain
a stout and solitary joy begins.

Please visit www.mdfriedman.com to see more of M. D. Friedman’s work.