"The Sun" by William Carlos Williams + Rosé Mussels

The anecdote to any long week is a pot of glossy, steamed mussels dripping in garlic and wine. It's one of summers simple pleasures, and while the mussels themselves take a small amount of work to prep, they basically cook themselvesquickly in a warm bath, emerging plump and tender, ready to be spread on a piece of grilled bread.

This poem by William Carlos Williams makes no mention of mussels, but there are five words tucked in the middle of the poem, "the slovenly bearded rocks hiss—" that reminded me of the sound mussels make when they're steaming in the pot.

"To Be of Use" by Marge Piercy + Cheesy Corn Crostini

We're poised to wave goodbye to spring in favor of longer days, warm breezes and the satisfaction of summer. This is truly a poem for June, then, as it praises the labor, the farmer, the gathering, and the feasting of the coming season. (Also, thanks go to The Yellow House for posting this poem last month and providing some of the inspiration here today.)

"Mountains" by Natasha Sajé + Affogato

Often the books stay open for days, face down, saved on a page that stuck with me, that I need to go back and review, that needs a recipe. I don't pick them up automatically. There are food magazines to peruse and dinner to be made, the dog to walk, the food system to keep up with, laundry to be done, graduation cards to send, and online shopping to be done, among other things. I know we all have our own noise. All good things mostly, but things that train us (for better or worse), to do several tasks at once instead of what poetry requires: to be fully present in the moment, reading the words on the page and letting them sink in like crusty bread sopping up olive oil from the mouth of a bowl.