Sack Nasty 2


It begun as a small thought
Whilst cooking;

My huge steel knife slicing
Their crisp snap
Of flesh
Green, purple, orange, red
Onto the board.

I stopped,
Searched myself.
Was arrested
By my thoughts,
Cuffed to a new idea
And dragged at its behest
Down new neural corridors
To an astonishing judgement:

I understood,
With a stinging clarity
That mingled
With the seeds
And stains
And scents
Of growing things
Is liberty –
The smallest
Simplest act
Of making my own dinner

Is a privilege.

10 comments on “Sack Nasty 2

  1. bobcabkings says:

    Thank you, Lizzi. It is so easy to dismiss the significance of cooking when it is just for oneself, but we really do deserve that gift of care.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Lizzi says:

      Not only that…but that we can just go out and get the groceries, just reach into drawers and cupboards and have access to the utensils and equipment we need, just compose our own menu, to suit our own taste…to use things like satisfyingly sharp knives and it not be punishable…oyyy

      Liked by 1 person

  2. bobcabkings says:

    Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
    Lizzi cooks

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m having to wait to get Ra’s book but I truly cannot wait. You should also read Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman. She was institutionalized just before Martha Stewart was and it was an interesting read when you put it in that particular timeline. So many freedoms we take for granted…simply cooking or being allowed to go to the bathroom by ourselves. Privacy. Those who have gone through losing their rights and basic liberties and completely changed their life around have my utmost respect.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. rarasaur says:

    It took me so long to figure out what I wanted to say to this, but it came to me this morning.

    Thank you.
    Not for holding the book and examining the poems,
    but for holding the story and examining freedom.

    I love you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Lizzi says:

      Your poetry…well, your writing in general, I find…is far, FAR bigger than the words and pages (or screens) which contain it.

      I've used this analogy before, possibly with reference to you…possibly TO you, but it sticks and sticks and sticks with me…the story within a story in The Secret Garden, where Mary tells Colin about the story her Ayah used to tell her of a little boy god who looked like an ordinary child, except for when you looked down his throat, you could see the whole universe. I have a sneaking suspicion anyone looking down your throat (or maybe into your ear, towards your brain) might see the same.

      Liked by 1 person


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