Sunday, August 7, 2011


It’s mid June and the new harvest is in. Picked under the moon and laid upon the farmers market stand at daybreak. A baker’s dozen of gorgeous sweet corn gathered and steamed.
A dozen ears appear at the table. Somehow, one has disappeared between the kitchen and table. She smiles sweetly and I can see the evidence.
I fumble an ear to my plate, fingers snapping from the burn, but this is no time for sissies. I cut from the butter dish a gigantic slice and lather the kernels. She does the same, smoothing the golden liquid over and around and around. I hurry and grab the salt first. I adjust the shaker top to enormous and sprinkle over and over, turning the beckoning cob.
Now, now, the summer is here, and the bounty is ready, and the rewards deserving. I typewriter across, click click click, ching. Click click click, ching. The butter flumes upon my chin, and the glorious taste releases the endorphins. Salt tingles my tongue and enhances the butter, the sugar lopes across my mind, and I say things to my god.
I toss the over-and-done-with ear. I grip the hot new ear named for me and it burns me, just as she does-, she is already salting her second ear. I butter furiously, asking if she even savored that first ear of the season, she is already into the second ear and she won’t stop to answer. She’s like that with her sweet corn. Bitch.
Quickly she has four cobs to her name and I six. My jaws ache and my gut bloats but my taste buds scream, demand more. Faster I type, click click click, ching. Only two remain and I want them both. Both!
I lean over the table and try to slide the salt toward me with my elbow. She counter attacks and elbows me in the ribs. Pain shrieks to my brain but I don’t stop typing. I won’t stop until the last ear of summer is mine. Mine. I wheeze as she grips another new ear, slathers it in the elixir of butter-and-salt pooled on her plate. Mighty sly of her. With that ear still on her plate, she grips the final ear.
I gasp, kick the chair out from under her, and take my Precious. Slide it through the ooze on my plate and inhale. Sweet kernels of lush flavor and salt. My mind explodes with pleasure as I roar across the cob.
My elbows and face are smeared with excess and satisfaction as I lay down the final cob. Another ritual of summer has fulfilled its destiny. I lean down and help her from the floor, for I am dying to kiss those salty lips.

1 comment:

  1. Suspense is ridden: WHOooo got that last cob anyway?!