Ode to Garlic

Oh Garlic, what homage

can we bring you

and your graced state

of bulbousness?

Packed tightly into

your little white dome

we want to break you open

and spread your cloves like

shining white pebbles onto

the shores of our meals.

Oh, Allium Sativum,

brother of Onion, Leek,

Chive and Shallot,

you turn my mouth

into a warm hearth.

You who have grown

rich and full in

the dark soil of the earth.

Proud should the lily be

that you are part of her family.

  

When we peel you

your skin breaks into

the fine wings of a white butterfly,

flitting and refusing to be taken hold of.

When we crush, bake and chew you

you suffuse the walls, 

our skin, tongues and throats

with you pungency.

Your strength does not

lie in size or weaponry;

it lies in the way you smell of the sea,

of the suurbossies on the dunes

of the dark moist corners of the Tsitsikamma

and of soft, curled-up young ferns.

I grow impassioned with

the spirit of you.

With your unavoidable presence

no long-fanged demons

will walk through my doors.

If the Egyptians invocated you 
at the ceremony of taking oaths

and the Greeks piled you onto cairns of stones 
at the crossroads for an offering to Hecate,

then I can take a hold of you,

smear you on my forehead and temples

and beseech the poetry of you

to land upon my tongue. 

As much as you try

you will never be

insipid, tasteless,

dull, boring or bland -

you hold too much excitement

and urging energy of restless underground wells.

I go to the market,

enticed by onions, potatoes,

ginger, squash,

coriander and mushrooms,

yet I am never satisfied

until you lie with your orbicular lightness

in my basket.

  

Stuffed in olives,

crushed onto pizzas

grilled with prawns

sliced into pickles

blended with pesto

concocted with green beans

mixed into hummus

brewed in soups

fused with pasta

alchemized with butter

and

united with olive oil - 

you are herb and spice,

fruit and vegetable,

fire and lily,

gold and silver!

Hail the garlic crushers

for theirs is a divine deed.

Releasing the bulb’s bitter-sweet juices to all of the world

might just dismantle all arrogance,

melt all iciness 
and  

break down all pretense.