Poetry: The Glossy Bodies of Peppers

The Glossy Bodies of Peppers

by Denise Calvetti Michaels

Five years from the time I last saw him
I return for a visit mid-September
with Michelle and Christy, my two young daughters,
to find Nonno continues the practice

of drying vegetables and seeds on tarps of jute,
though, mostly, it's peppers and beans,
peppers and beans, and zucchini,
he grows, in profusion,
to dry and give away to the Filipino families down the road
who've traded us lettuce and rhubard
for brown eggs and wine since I was a child.

I point out to my girls the glossy bodies of peppers,
deepening yellow, ocher, orange, red,
because this is the first time they've seen
the home-grown produce of Salinas
their great grandfather, Ercole Angelo Bianco, is known for.

We've been living in married-student housing in Tampa,
shop only at Publix,
near the University of South Florida,
or A & P
where we find black-eyed peas for nine cents a can.

I kneel down near a crumpled burlap bag
strewn with the litters of green peppers and tomatoes,
tendril vines still attached,
unlike store-bought that's sprayed, kept from ripening,
wrapped in Saran wrap,
sticker priced, stripped of roots.

We have babies, my daughters squeal, cradling peppers
in their matching plaid cotton T-shirts
stretched out in front of them like aprons.

I tickle under their chins with a bleached blonde horsetail
picked from a sidewalk crack.

They giggle, scrunch up their shoulders,
and twirl out of reach,
dancing and squealing on the canvas of Ercole's peppers,
deepening yellow, ocher, orange, red.

Denise Calvetti Michaels is mother to three daughters, and grandmother to Holden, Maizie and Calder. Her poems have been published in Crosscurrents, Paterson Literary Review, King County Poetry on Buses, and In Praise of Fertile Land. Polenta, her memoir, tells the story of growing up Italian American in Salinas, California, and is included in a new anthology, The Milk of Almonds, Italian American Woman on Food and Culture published by the Feminist Press, 2002. Denise teaches Psychology, Child Development and Human Relations at Cascadia Community College in Bothell, Washington.




Read the Introduction Recent Poetry To My Daughter, After a Fight Swimming (Stretchmarks) Dead Man’s Float How to disappoint your mother The Last Page Christina Iron Ethan and Lily, After School Mom Art so much deepens Archives Poetry Archives E-zine Don't have time to check for updates? Let us come to you! Click here to subscribe or unsubscribe to the Literary Mama E-zine. Literary Mama About Us Submissions Contact Privacy Policy Literary Mama Bookshop Literary Mama Gear Powered by Movable Type 3.16	Poetry « Matermorphosis \| Back to Poetry \| Scottie » The Glossy Bodies of Peppers by Denise Calvetti Michaels Five years from the time I last saw him I return for a visit mid-September with Michelle and Christy, my two young daughters, to find Nonno continues the practice of drying vegetables and seeds on tarps of jute, though, mostly, it's peppers and beans, peppers and beans, and zucchini, he grows, in profusion, to dry and give away to the Filipino families down the road who've traded us lettuce and rhubard for brown eggs and wine since I was a child. I point out to my girls the glossy bodies of peppers, deepening yellow, ocher, orange, red, because this is the first time they've seen the home-grown produce of Salinas their great grandfather, Ercole Angelo Bianco, is known for. We've been living in married-student housing in Tampa, shop only at Publix, near the University of South Florida, or A & P where we find black-eyed peas for nine cents a can. I kneel down near a crumpled burlap bag strewn with the litters of green peppers and tomatoes, tendril vines still attached, unlike store-bought that's sprayed, kept from ripening, wrapped in Saran wrap, sticker priced, stripped of roots. We have babies, my daughters squeal, cradling peppers in their matching plaid cotton T-shirts stretched out in front of them like aprons. I tickle under their chins with a bleached blonde horsetail picked from a sidewalk crack. They giggle, scrunch up their shoulders, and twirl out of reach, dancing and squealing on the canvas of Ercole's peppers, deepening yellow, ocher, orange, red. Denise Calvetti Michaels is mother to three daughters, and grandmother to Holden, Maizie and Calder. Her poems have been published in Crosscurrents, Paterson Literary Review, King County Poetry on Buses, and In Praise of Fertile Land. Polenta, her memoir, tells the story of growing up Italian American in Salinas, California, and is included in a new anthology, The Milk of Almonds, Italian American Woman on Food and Culture published by the Feminist Press, 2002. Denise teaches Psychology, Child Development and Human Relations at Cascadia Community College in Bothell, Washington.