Regrets are best served
on a bed of cold linguine.
Regrets are red, saucy, spicy.
Regrets are the ripe tomatoes we picked,
each containing a vast richness
and fullness of flavor when left to simmer
for a few minutes, hours, days. You see,
the years of disappointments are
the recipe, and we remember regret
every time we taste it.
A spoonful here: the sprout
of youth, putting down roots,
how leaves spring to unfold.
A spoonful there: a pair of green
lovers sunbathing, ripening
red, still growing. A spoonful
in autumn, when we go to harvest
what we’ve learned. And in winter,
we pull out our stored-up regrets
from the back of the freezer,
thaw them out. Heat them
on the stove. Stir them
constantly. Serve them up
over cold linguine.
Go on, eat up, we all say,
regret dripping from our tongues,
our lips, our drooping chins.
It wrinkles our brows,
stretches our clothes, stains
our souls. But, perhaps
even regret has its place
on our plates. It tickles our senses
like a pollinated breeze, memory
after memory rising like steam
from the earth after a night of rain,
or like a tomato vine tied to a stake.
We all need that stake at first.
We all need that taste.
We all need the recipe for regret.
So go on, eat up.
And maybe someday,
try cooking it for yourself.
Spice it up while you can.
© Elizabeth Alford
Response to our Inspiration Call on January 16, 2017
Get Creative at www.facebook.com/CreativeTalentsUnleashed
Photo credit: © pixabay.com / Donna J. Sanders
Categories: Featured Writer's