Written February, 2013 in Panajachel, Guatamala.
The smell of cooking garlic and lemon juice
From outside the subway stop in Brooklyn
That takes me home
To an enclosed garden in Panajachel
Visiting a braver friend than I
Who is making this food?
Did they salt? Sufficiently?
Through my nose
It seeps onto my tongue
Reminding of meals that I've made
Astringent. Hot. Bitter? Sometimes
I always use a bit too much
Or a lot too much
But what's wrong with being greedy when it comes to taste?
Most times we never get enough of what we need