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Transcript of Sensory Images
details you can see
visuals you can infer
Grandma’s long black dresses black iron stove
narrow windows on a narrow alley
the Roma Street kitchen a shadowy cave
but the back door opens to a sunny yard
by Anna Bart
details you can hear
sounds you can infer
I hear the frogs in the muddy lake
Croaking from shore to shore.
They've one swift season to soothe their ache.
In autumn they sing no more.
So ignore me now, and you'll hear my meow
As I scratch all night at the door.
Alley Cat Love Song
by Dana Giola
details you can taste
flavors you can infer
Feed me strawberries and cream,
And carrots from my garden, the ones
That roast sweet as candy.
Airmail me a French baguette
I can toast for breakfast.
And, please, a gyro and frites
From that place in the Latin Quarter.
by Kyle Potvin
food / drink
details you can smell
scents you can infer
Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for cracks in the dark,
Shoots dangled and drooped,
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.
And what a congress of stinks!
Roots ripe as old bait,
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
by Theodore Roethke
details you can feel
textures you can infer
Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
The Blue Bowl
by Jane Kenyon
My great-grandfather had one specialty: a Mint Snowball, which he invented. Some people drove all the way in from Decatur just to taste it. First he stirred fresh mint leaves with sugar and secret ingredients in a small pot on the stove for a very long time. He concocted a flamboyant elixir of mint. Its scent clung to his fingers even after he washed his hands. Then he shaved ice into tiny particles and served it mounded in a glass dish. Permeated with mint syrup. Scoops of rich vanilla ice cream to each side. My mother took a bite of minty ice and ice cream mixed together. The Mint Snowball tasted like winter. She closed her eyes to see the Swiss village my great-grandfather’s parents came from. Snow frosting the roofs. Glistening, dangling spokes of ice.
by Naomi Shihab Nye
that engage your