Kamayan

Oh, yes, I can eat with cutlery:
With just fork and knife,
Or with as many sets of silverware
As it takes to consume a grand repast.
I can do this with the elegance of the West,
Or the dockside manners of a South Harbor stevedore.

It all depends on where I am.

But the most delicious meals
I consume with just my
Bare
Hands.

In my soul's birthplace
Right there, on the sand
Al fresco, clad in a sarong,
My flip-flops lazing in the sun.

I like to pluck
At hot flesh,
Be it roast or fried
Or boiled or broiled.
I pick the meat from the bones
Daintily, carefully, watching it
Come apart between my fingers.

I like to caress
My vegetables
Be they
Buttered or steamed
Or crisply raw.

I handle hot rice like a pro:
First, I put the viand on top,
Allow the sauce to sink in,
Then mold bite-sized pyramids
Quickly, if you please,
And pop that handmade heaven
Into my mouth and feel it all
Fill the first chamber of my appetite.

The heat foretells
My pleasure, stimulates
My fingertips first
As I breathe in
The warm salt air
Of the soft-lapping sea behind me.

Oh, yes, I like my meals hot,
'Tis the burning of my skin
That begins this meal of pleasure,
Serves as counterpoint to the coolness
Of a banana-leaf plate and a tall, sweaty
Glass of water and ice.

You might say
I like sensation play
On the table
Fully-clothed,
With a knee drawn up
Above the bench
For company.

I'd have a small bowl
Of water scented
With tiny, split limes—
The kind that grow
In my tropical climes.

I dip my seared fingers in,
To ease the burn,
To add a citrus tang
To what hot food
I place on my hungry tongue.

I close my eyes in bliss,
Chew and swallow slowly,
Then I reach out for more.

Kamayan is the Tagalog term for eating with one's hands.