09-29-2025

 

Eric Steineger​

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CALDO VERDE

 

Consider a kitchen in Alentejo; it is a shrine without

deity; it is proximity to the sun-bearing grove. There,

one knows how to make the caldo verde, essentially

kale, potatoes, and sausage. To reproduce this recipe,

start with potatoes and sausage, then add kale while

being careful not to obliterate it. Leave it more like

a stew that eats like a soup. You might remember

the ratio 1 to 3. You might glance at an ancestor’s

recipe while reading “The Feeling of a Westerner”

by Cesario Verde, a native poet whose name should

not be confused with the dish: “In quarters which the

earthquake / flattened / Equal, straight buildings wall

me in; / Everywhere I face steep streets / And the tolling

of pious, monastic bells.” You might read other stanzas

while cooking, forget the century, tap into a toque that

is not your own. It’s okay if the caldo verde goes cool

eventually. It’s okay to return to a less mellifluous

dialect. To further tradition pulling from the bone.

 

DISQUIET

 

Trying to remember last night’s dream.

My colleagues from the office. We were

not in Lisbon, but in Estoril near a beach,

without clients. We were at some point,

eating prawns at a café by the water.

There, the light too much for staring,

so we looked off. Already this day will

happen again, maybe bacalao and wine,

this time business to keep one focused.

Or scratch company; subtract the dragon

that never occupied my thoughts. Were

we aware of our place in the sun? Then

trying to recall the dream from the dream.

 

OFFICE POEM

 

The office has a different kind of weather. It never storms, nor

does it smell of copper and earth. There are sounds, of course:

the whirr of fans, a hand drawing noise from paper, but these

sounds are involuntary—proof the office has a pulse. At times,

workers rejoice at their desks, and the office forgets to clap.

They look around, then back to exactitude. What would it be

to linger there afterhours, with only a view of the street, with

all the people sleeping at home? The office dines on signatures

and the clack of keys.

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-from From a Lisbon Rooftop celebrated with the author's permission and selected by PoemoftheWeek.com Founder and Editor, Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum

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Eric Steineger, also known as Charles Steineger, teaches English at East Nashville Magnet High School. He co-hosts The Nashville Poetry Party, and his work has been featured in Waxwing, Rattle: The Poets Respond, The Los Angeles Review, The Night Heron Barks, and other journals.