Jan Sand

Rookie - 19 Points (February 2 1926 / USA)

Spell - Poem by Jan Sand

There is a point,
When traveling by rocket,
That the engines must be turned
To face the destination.
All that energy of velocity
So dearly gained
In burning fuel,
Must be defeated
For safe descent.
The point in life
When future fascination
Reverses to nostalgia
Is difficult to place.
My father baked a salmon
In a grill
Enmeshed in onion rings.
Without fail,
The tips of onion curls
Burnt black.
That bitter taste of charred onion
Casts a spell.
It conjures up my long dead father.
Burnt onions are my madeleines.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2013


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