My tongue tingles,
my teeth water,
my brain echoes their name.
Tomato. Tomato. Tomato.
Never will a taste be my last,
break of smooth, shiny skin
like a bubble bursting
to reveal true maturity as toxic femininity.
-
Grandmother picked them
from the Amish boy's stand while I crushed
on his bowl cut in knee-length shorts
mandated by my mother.
Flies buzzed by squash, and
breezes ruffled tent flaps, but
the tomatoes were glorious, plump gemstones
in that crop dust ocean.
His cheeks were river stones, his hands sandpaper,
but he handled Grandmother's picks
like babies' heads.
-
At the kitchen table, I melted when my teeth sank
through clouds of white bread and
carved cliff sides into processed cheese slices
and broke red fruit flesh,
sparkling with salt crystals.
Grandmother boasted her refreshment, but I
was too enamored with the taste of health to speak,
or breathe,
or remember the hands that grew them,
or held them,
or picked them,
or prayed over them.
-
Tomato. Tomato. Tomato.
My every old summer thought
and first star wish.
From crave-quenching fork crunch
to thirst-satisfying finger slurp.
From Jersey dining room salad to
Paris rooftop sweet pizza.
Forever my cheeks' porn,
my tastiest crush.
-
This poem was written in response to the Ode to Ordinary Challenge issued by Vocal: "Write an ode to an ordinary object."
About the Creator
Emma Kate Gee
Thrift queen and photography peasant seeking creativity and community. Lover of dogs, antique stores, and homemade bread. Writing hard and clear about what hurts.
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One Unchecked Box
"Republished" because it was the only way to add the embed for the newly recorded audio version of this story due to the Top Story badge. Plus it serves as a nice, informal announcement of the podcast's revival for another season (go subscribe!):
By Stephen A. Roddewig7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (23)
This is really nice! 😊
I've never been able to keep raw tomatoes down. Mom tried three times with me: first at the table, second away from the table, third over the sink. At least the mess was easy to clean up the third time. Yet I don't believe I could have grown up without tomato soup, tomato catsup, tomato paste, tomato sauce, salsa. I have always loved the taste. Just don't force me to eat them raw. Lovely ode.
I loved reading this, and I love tomatoes too.
excellent image of a tomato. I never looked at them that way.
Love the line “forever my cheeks porn!” Great line! Great poem! Love it!
Absolutely love this!! A poignant and thoughtful piece on how we tie certain produce to vivid memories and emotions
Cool, Congratulations 🎉
Glad to see this getting some love, love love! Congrats Emma on Top Story!
That was wonderful and now I want a tomato sandwich. Congrats on the TS.
If I wasn’t t in love with tomatoes before, I certainly am now! What a wonderful tribute with gorgeous images painted by your exquisite words! Now off to eat a tomat!
Absolutely perfect! All of it! You are so talented with creating imagery! I hate tomatoes but loved this! 🤍
Brilliant and love it!!!💕❤️❤️
Oh my word. It's lunch time as I'm writing this. I've got bloomer bread, crumbly cheese and sweet plump tomatoes. I hold you fully responsible for my lunch choice and was salivating before I made it. What an ode.
I love this and love the images you create as well as your words
What tender way to remember the flavor of childhood loves. Beautifully spun!!
Well now. I love tomatoes and I was salivating by the end of this stunning and creative ode. Well done, Emma! BTW (Do you prefer Emma Kate or Emma? I keep switching between the two but thought I'd best ask) :)
Wow this was An amazing ode to a tomato!!! Now I want one….
This was fun and definitely creative. I loved the line "At the kitchen table, I melted when my teeth sank through clouds of white bread and carved cliff sides into processed cheese slices" Awesome! 🤩
Ah, tomatoes. Thanks for the vivid capture in words of such a delicious taste of summer. Today's lunch? A tomato sandwich, of course.
This was such a wonderful ode! The cover pic, did you draw that?
Very zesty and creative poem, lovely.
I love tomatoes. Very creative.
Oh damn! I can taste this poem and it’s delicious! *chef’s kiss*