SUMMER BASKET

I relished the feel/of my hands gripping the wide handle bars/and my body hoisted above the earth./I straddled those wanting to speed, to soar,/over the smooth road between houses where/I might ride to its end and turn into the world. 

- Sharan Strange, The Bicycle Wizard, The Best 100 African-American Poems

Seedless watermelon, purple yam cheesecake, "haiku bentos" (nested rice salad and savory August plums). Sea asparagus and boiled potatoes, dilled and buttered. Long-stem field sunflowers and a bottle of pink Lillet in iced cooler accented for joy. Summer in the Catskills when I rented a cottage by the lake on Mt. Dale with my old dog, Jung. I sent "cable dispatches" to the city to check in at home and report we were O.K., that the "kid" was rabid chasing squirrels in the woods, and wild about his freedom running in a clearing seemingly forever. We napped together beside the birdy creek after he had licks of water first. We had Brooklyn-curated food together, me with my vegetarian canine friend, lounging on a handmade blanket over cool grass. He was two at that time, more than ten years ago. A sweet summer hard to forget.   

The last summer I went fishing in Jeolla-do (S. Korea) with my students, we were all wearing yellow t-shirts and jeans riverside. Some parents came for the picnic, and we all gathered for lunch in the park's terrace, sitting on bamboo floor around low, long tables steaming with hot food in sizzling bowls, sesame noodles with scallions, and moon cakes. I loved mandoos in the basket- those fried on one side and steamed on the other tofu and water chestnut dumplings, and dipped in chili oil soy sauce. This hungry teacher, sure, was eating one for the chopsticks after another, satisfaction down. The mid-July mountain had crystal clear air and soft breeze handed down from Unju's persimmon orchards to us. Food is an affectionate sharing time in the country's culture, and being spoon-fed, literally, is an act of gratitude to receive victuals from the elders who cooked hard. Jong-min's oma (mom) treated me like family, and fed me well. "I'll go back to heaven again./At the end of my outing to this beautiful world,/I'll go back and say, It was beautiful" (by Chon-sang, Pyong). 

I have blueberries and mint leaves in the fridge; roasted cashew nuts and blue corn chips in the cupboard; avocados, tomatoes and alfalfas chilled. Orange blossom sparkling water. And a thick book to bring: "Carlos Santana, The Universal Tone, A Biography." I'm ready to hit the road again, "hear" and now.