Sweeter Than Today
by Elya Braden
I keep the ginger too long.
It shrivels inside its snug, red mesh bag
in the blue bowl
on my speckled kitchen counter
with the sweet yellow onions,
the bulbed garlic cloves,
and a solitary potato sprouting
tender green buds, its allover eyes
watching me, asking me, When?
Each morning I glance at the ginger
and imagine myself peeling it, slicing it,
releasing its pungent flesh,
boiling water in the crimson kettle
on the black stove and pouring
the steaming liquid over the spicy root,
steeping its essence,
quartering a fresh Meyer lemon picked
from the gnarled tree in my backyard,
squeezing the juice, licking
the tart, sticky residue off my fingers.
But instead, I measure six cups of water
into the stainless-steel coffeemaker,
scoop six dark tablespoons of pre-ground
beans from the airtight canisters
nested in the refrigerator door,
flip the “on” switch and wait. It’s easier this way.
The thought of all that peeling and slicing,
boiling and pouring, picking and quartering
and squeezing overwhelms me in the morning,
when it’s all I can do to find my glasses,
bundle myself into my winter robe,
don my sheepskin slippers,
and tromp down the stairs
into the morning chill. So why
do I hold on to this daily fantasy of ginger tea
as I watch the ginger shrivel with age and neglect?
It’s not too late, I must tell myself each day.
I can still do it tomorrow. Is this how I stayed,
one day, then another, and another
in a withered marriage, imagining a tomorrow
steeped in warmth, sweeter and spicier than today?
PHOTO: “Ginger tea in winter” by Silviarita.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I wrote this poem several years ago when I was briefly using a submission service to connect my poems with potential journals/lit mags. I had a deadline to submit to the service the next day and was stressed out that I only had two poems “good enough” to submit and needed a third. That morning, at Unity Church with my now-husband, I had a prayer session with one of their prayer chaplains. In response to my anxiety, she calmed me with saying that I had all the time I needed to write the poem that needed to be written. When I returned home, I remember wandering our house, looking for inspiration, then sat down to write. The first line: “I keep the ginger too long.” came to me and the rest just flowed from that. This poem was originally published in PMS – Poemmemoirstory, now known as NELLE Literary Journal.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Elya Braden is a writer and mixed-media artist living in Ventura County, California, and is an editor for Gyroscope Review. She is the author of the chapbooks, Open The Fist (2020) and The Sight of Invisible Longing, a semi-finalist in Finishing Line Press’s New Women’s Voices Competition (March 2023). Her work has been published in Anti-Heroin Chic, Prometheus Dreaming, Rattle Poets Respond, Sequestrum, Sheila-Na-Gig Online, The Louisville Review, and elsewhere. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and Best New Poets. Visit her at elyabraden.com.
Silver Birch Press 
Elya, a beautiful poem. We’ve all not done what we imagine we’d do or like to do or like to have in various contexts. Love your website, too, and your art. You’re a neighbor! I live and write in the high desert of California.
Love this and yes tart and sweet and true!
[…] FROM THE AUTHOR: Elya Braden’s poem, “Sweeter Than Today,” published on August 24, 2023 in the Spices and Seasonings Series inspired me to shake a salt memory […]