I'm quite the 'chow hound':
December 29, 1997
Mashed potatoes so light and fluffy like clouds. . . . . .
You know the sky is solid blue, . . . . from horizon to
stretch - your - neck - backwards horizon.
For the floaty,
white clouds are all in those potatoes. . . . . Yes,
If the last meal I ever eat is mashed potatoes,
I won't mind.
Of course, if they come with some pizza,
I won't mind that either.
It could be thin-crust pizza,
don't need no thick crust.
Not with all those fluffy,
melt in your mouth mashed potatoes.
The soft blobs of earthy heaven,
seasoned with milk and butter,
almost float down to your stomach.
They warm you,
for you can feel the sun in them,
which blessed them when they were growing.
They came out of plain dirt,
plain, but not poor.
What makes the soil rich?
The humblest of things. . .
THAT'S what makes the soil fertile.
Out of these base beginnings,
this simple joy.
© Joan Ann Lansberry
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