Posted by: normanlgreen | August 31, 2012

Dream, August 31, 2012 song from the gourd


Dream, home,

I see, feel, and taste from the viewpoint of a 17th century woman — in her twenties and newly returned to Britain from North America.

Experimenting, out of desperation, with the foreign food they have brought back with them.  She feels completely dissipated.  So she has her serving girl prepare the foods.  Within the judgmental view of her distant family, with whom she stays, she butters the cob corn with soggy chips of torn up pages of ancient books.

Nothing satisfies her until she comes to the green squash with the two eyes up near the gourds neck. the steamed calabash is impossible to bite through, but she finds that by tearing off the short neck,  she has access to the spicy gelatinous nectar. Drinking the peppery slurry, she is instantly restored to full energy.

She hears in her head the old black men in the New World singing their syncopated tune:

 

Goose soup

where are you?

Goose soup

what you gonna do about it?

Goose soup

loose as the poop.

Goose soup

goose soup gonna see you through.

 

She looks to the white and blue smears that look back at her from the variegated green surface and knows that she will win the day.  She no longer cares what  her Uncle and cousins think of her.

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