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published
in Seam 2007
On cooking with chilli peppers
It’s
that dangerous-red-feeling; that tonight,
why
not make it hot? thing, and you reach
for
that squeaky red leather skin—
that
bright-red-slapper-red, like
the
red heels you dream of; red
to
topple over in; it’s the scarlet shine,
red
as Hepburn’s lips or Marilyn’s hips
in
The Seven Year Itch; oh the Latino cool,
swinging-salsa-red,
jalapeno-red,
ostrich
feather-red; red that shouts stop—
and
that hot fizz when you’re chopping
and
sprinkling and stirring, losing it;
thinking:
damage. Thinking: Spice that’s not Nice,
makes
eyelids burn, nostrils sting, lips numb;
thinking:
that’ll shock them; that’ll teach
the
mother-in-law to think she’s modern
about
food.
Mim Darlington
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