The simple things

This week's poem is about the simple things in life that are sometimes overlooked. Most of you know that I have a serious affinity for food, so I can really relate to the following poem by Mark Strand entitled "Pot Roast". As the author describes, it is often that as I enjoy a particular meal I am reminded of other times eating with family or struggling on my own in college or a dozen other key points in my life.

I couldn't find a good site with just the poem posted, so here is a copy from Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf):

Pot Roast

    I gaze upon the roast,
    that is sliced and laid out
    on my plate
    and over it
    I spoon the juices
    of carrot and onion.
    And for once I do not regret
    The passage of time.

    I sit by a window
    that looks
    on the soot-stained brick of buildings
    and do not care that I see
    no living thing—not a bird,
    not a branch in bloom,
    not a soul moving
    in the rooms
    behind the dark panes.
    These days when there is little
    to love or to praise
    one could do worse
    than yield
    to the power of food.
    So I bend

    to inhale
    the steam that rises
    from my plate, and I think
    of the first time
    I tasted a roast
    like this.
    It was years ago
    in Seabright,
    Nova Scotia;
    my mother leaned
    over my dish and filled it
    and when I finished
    filled it again.
    I remember the gravy,
    its odor of garlic and celery,
    and sopping it up
    with pieces of bread.

    And now
    I taste it again.
    The meat of memory.
    The meat of no change.
    I raise my fork in praise,
    and I eat.