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| A Woman with a Fish-Pedlar in a Kitchen by Willem van Mieris, 1713. From the National Gallery of Art, London |
Thanks to the poets who entered the December Poetry Challenge and to Susan Huebner for serving as the judge.
For
a number of years, I hosted a Christmas Eve taco bar for members of my family.
The winning poet’s family celebrates Christmas Eve with a very different menu:
Seven
Fishes on Christmas Eve
Most years I ignored the curly
fried smelts, fried anchovies,
smoked salmon on rye,
and those sneaky smoked oysters
resting in the appetizer plate
next to the olives.
I simply curled up my nose
when they passed the baccala,
dried, reconstituted cod in
tomato sauce, centerpiece of the feast.
Baccala did not make my "eat-it-up" list.
Mercifully I was not forced to try it.
I would place a few shrimp and
a forkful of tuna in olive oil on my
plate alongside my beloved
artichokes and olives,
(So many olives!) while I waited
to be released to raid the cookie table.
My cousin Johnny, allergic to fish,
usually pushed around a few items
on an even sparser plate until
that year when his system went into
full rebellion. He walked into the house
as Grandma was putting food on
table. The pungent aroma
of our "pescatory" repast,
in particular the baccala, laid him low.
Aunts and Uncles rushed him onto
the porch for fresh air. Grandma
opened all the windows.
We ate Christmas Eve dinner
in our coats that year.
~ Joan Leotta
Note to Readers:
Leotta
says, “I don't recall what happened with Johnny and the dinner after that, but
after Grandma died, we substituted spaghetti with clams for the baccala.
Judge’s Comments: The
specificity makes the poem! And those fishy details, the scene of family
gathered to celebrate in a traditional way, and then the zing of the last
line—wonderful. The poet captures the differences between happy anticipation
and dread when it comes to the differences we all share in observing the
season. A Christmas poem with the words anchovies
and smelts in the second line
captures the reader immediately—good work!
Huebner selected a poignant poem as
runner-up:
Christmas Without Him
after Zuan Quynh, Summer
In
the season of winter
growing
things freeze
under
twin furies
of
cold and ice
In
the season of Christmas
wind’s
hoary breath bellows
and
bells clack furious tongues
Birds
scatter
In
this season of death and burial
a
child’s voice cries from crevices
weary
in the white out
as
he sleeps beneath snow’s crust
In
this season of fathomless skies
days
that darken early
a
boy’s presents wait
beside
a tree with no lights
O
summer, where have you gone,
your
promise of long days and color
Where
are you, my grandson
Why
have you gone away
~
Mary Jo Balistreri
Note to Readers: Balistreri remembers reading “Summer” in the Pushcart Prize
volume shortly after her grandson, Zach, was buried on December 4th, 2009 (which
she says still seems like yesterday). Poetry allowed her to express her own “ripped-apart
heart.”
Judge’s Comments:
This poem mirrors the deep cold we can feel inside and out. The
heartrending twist for the reader in recognizing the Him might not be the same child we usually associate the season
with, sets this poem apart in its longing for what’s been lost.
The poets retain copyright on their own
poetry. Please do not copy the poems without consent.
Bios:
Joan Leotta has been playing with words on page and on
stage since childhood in Pittsburgh. She does occasionally cook codfish in
sauce--but uses fresh, not the dried that has to be soaked for three days to
reconstitute it! And yes, she prepared a seven-fished dinner this Christmas Eve.
Mary Jo Balistreri has two books of
poetry published by Bellowing Ark Press, a chapbook by Tiger's Eye Press. A
book, Still, is due out September,
2018 by Future Cycle Press.
©
Wilda Morris
