Artichoke (Richard Foerster)

I don't know the poet (and can find nothing illuminating), but he did bring back memories of my first encounter with an artichoke. I don't know if the way described in this poem is the only way to each fresh artichoke, but it has been my sole experience. Chile, last days, chill, patio, plastic table, saucers of dipping oil and the gestured instructions for the proper way to eat artichoke. I love how someone else's experiences seen through short, descriptive phrasing can convey a certain feeling and mood that haven't enter my thoughts for years.

But, you see, it's this. Completely and utterly this: "For all the bother, it’s the peeling away/we savored, the slow striptease/toward a tender heart—/how each petal dipped in the buttery sauce/was raked across our lower/teeth"

It's the act of memory, of new experience, of freshness, and yes, Richard, ("we risked silence,/risked even/love") even love. The act of eating artichoke is all those things.

Favorite line: "its residue/less redolent of desire than sweet restraint"