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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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the early-morning Nidd
near doubles the height
of the gritstone piers
gives vertigo
to walkers on the river bank
but once the rowing boats
are hired to eager
if cack-handed
tourists then the columns will shrink back
to their still impressive height
above the maelstrom
of caught crabs
and ripples spreading
from poor rowers pitched
into the chilly hidden depths

A Recipe For Pinangat

A bunch of fresh taro leaves.
A bowl of shredded coconut.
Lots of shrimp and spices.
A handful of chili peppers.
A lot of coconut milk.

"Magmata ka na ta makudkod kitang niyog!" She says to her son.

So said my aunt as she woke up early,
She was an early bird, unlike me who hardly
Has to wake up every day to earn a penny.

A jar of onions, garlic, black pepper.
A bundle of lemongrass to tie it all together.

I passed by my aunt's house to give her mom's brochures.
My mom's Avon business the one thing that endures
In our home as she dresses herself with cheap couture.

Procedure:

-Blend all the spices, grated coconut, chillies, and seafood together.
-Layer up some taro leaves and place the coconut mixture in the middle. Wrap it until it looks like a square pillow, tie with string.
-In a heavy pot, pour water, coconut milk, and the lemongrass in. Place your pinangat pillows inside and boil until the taro leaves are soft. It's done when it smells like a marsh.

She layers them after in a smaller pot
And sells them outside while they're hot.
Albeit respected, this is a dish I will not
Dare to eat even if my mood has been shot.

So many sink their forks into it,
Even if my taste buds don't agree with it.
And yet my mom seems to really like it,
So she buys a couple, tells me to deal with it.

And so does the old woman who could be sixty.
And the other customers I dare not reconnoiter.
The only thing content without a celebration,
Is the pinangat sold today, a small occasion.

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Company picnic

At first, I was angry at the vulture,
For picking at my bones,
But then I had to thank him,
For not leaving me alone.

His beak cuts with precision,
Removing parts of me.
Somehow I was left to rot,
Though, where else would I be?

So, I appreciate my feathered friend,
This harbinger of death.
He was here and here he stayed,
For company with my last breath.

A robin sat under a picnic bench

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