CORNUCOPIA
by Elizabeth
For one-and-sixpence my mother would buy
A whole sheep's head, and gently prise
The brains from it, from the white bone
Of that satanic skull. Heavy and tender,
Held by the merest membrane, the quivering
Brains would be plopped into a pot of boiling water
Laced with a little vinegar. Ah, vinegar.
Vinegar is the answer to everything.
When cooked and firm, the mass was mixed
With a chopped, hard boiled egg, only one
For the sheep was a silly thing and did not have too many brains.
The paste, carefully seasoned, was spread on hot buttered toast
And offered to us at tea-time. Oh, the taste!
The taste was of clouds, and flowers and fields,
And like no other taste alive in the memory.
Mother was not finished. The brainless bone
Was plunged into a mess of carrots, leeks
And barley, no garlic. Alas, no garlic,
To simmer and bubble for an interminable time
Till the succulent flesh fell from the head
And was collected and pressed and weighed down
And made into sandwiches for our lunch.
And still the horn was full, the barley swollen
And tender, the vegetables soft and savoury.
This was our supper. And so we were all fed
For one-and-sixpence, a sacrifice and the loving skill
And diligence of a mother.
