Steamed Sticky Rice

After the film “Branded to Kill” (1967)

sometimes the only way
to steady a tremor
is the smell
of steamed sticky rice

heat wafting from it
like a mini sauna

dark thoughts dissipate
in the company
of such a delight
sun cutting through brain fog

*

there is nothing quite like
cradling a tub
of freshly steamed rice
in the morning
and before bed

eating it with the relish
only a rice pervert
can muster
the texture and flavor
incomparable

it’s better than medicine
which has things in it
that we do not know

whereas rice has all the essential ingredients
for a happy stomach
and mind

*

a shot of steamed rice
heals better than a shot
of anything else

anything else suffocates
makes me forget
what’s worth remembering

I must remember
good memories are the rice
that sits in the soup
richening with time

same recipe
superior results
shackles of the mind lifted
by carb goodness

*

I’ve been resurrected
in the name
of the number one comfort food
all other foods
are pesticide this
and preservative that

while rice maintains
its luster and purity
cultivated finer
than heaven’s garden

and although it may seem
like a joke
it is not

steamed rice is sanctuary
it is what bind us
sticky
shiny
resplendent

*

and when there is no rice
not even in the rice shop
all that is left
is desire

Samuel Strathman (he/him) is a writer, poet, visual artist, and author. Some of his work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Quilliad, steel incisors, above/ground press, and other publications. His debut poetry collection, Omnishambles is forthcoming with Ice Floe Press (2023).