The Daily Blog

My First Love

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Long before I loved cooking, I loved poetry. This is one of my favorite poems, by Charles Simic.


Go inside a stone
that would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
or gnash with a tiger’s tooth
I am happy to be a stone.

From the outside the stone is a riddle:
Nobody knows how to answer it.
Yet within it must be cool and quiet
even though a cow steps on it full weight
even though a child throws it into the river
the stone sinks slow, unperturbed,
to the river bottom
where the fishes come to knock on it
and listen.

I have seen sparks fly out
when two stones are rubbed,
so perhaps it is not so dark inside after all;
perhaps there is a moon shining
from somewhere, as though behind a hill-
just enough light to make out
the strange writings, the star charts
on the inner walls.