Ode to the English Pea

I had not known you
except from a plastic bag,
poured out from a hole
cut in the corner with scissors.

My children stopped me there,
preferring you frozen,
Popping each icy kelly pearl into discriminate mouths
after discarding the shriveled.

But today little hands
instead of picking through a frosted pile,
pulled apart pods,
bags of the garden.

They learned what it takes to get a single pea.
And we tasted you for the first time fresh,
steamy dressed in butter and salt,
eating the work of our hands in quick delight.

5 thoughts on “Ode to the English Pea

  1. one of my favourite memories is being out in mum’s uncles garden helping to pick peas – not sure how many we actually got to the table as there’s not much more delicious than fresh peas in the warm sun 🙂

  2. There are few other foods, in my humble opinion, that are SO DIFFERENT fresh than any other form. I despised peas until I had them fresh, and now I won’t eat them any other way.

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