Tag Archives: poetry

Emily Glutenin

I’m gliadin! Who are you?
Are you — a gluten protein — too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! she’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be gluten-free!
To crumble — go stale — sog —
And be discussed — the livelong day —
On everybody’s blog.

A little analysis:

1) I hope that Emily was not gluten-intolerant, because she was really into bread. I mean really.

2) The more accepted last line of the first stanza is apparently “Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!” This actually makes more sense with the rest of the poem and with what we know of Emily Dickinson’s personality. That we cling to the banish line just goes to show how froglike we are.

3) Agoraphobia is not simply a fear of public places (in which case everyone with celiac disease would probably have it—at least, public places where food is served). It’s a particular kind of panic disorder, and it’s not one of the almost 300 symptoms and conditions associated with celiac disease. However, it develops on average around age 25, so there’s still time for me.

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Gluten-free knockoffs, poetical and edible

I think that I shall never see
A food you can’t make gluten-free.

This is a happy post! The poem was going to end, “A [food name] that is gluten-free,” but I actually couldn’t come up with anything that some enterprising blogger hadn’t already managed to turn gluten-free.

Croissants, I thought? Gluten-free(Allergy-free, too!)
Pumpernickel, perhaps? Gluten-free.
Vital wheat gluten? Whaa?! Gluten-free.

It’s really encouraging! Apparently ingenuity knows no bounds. Now, if only laziness were so easily overcome…

What do you think—is the internet lying to me? Is there anything you’ve just never been able to replicate without the magic of gluten?

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An ode to mess

I’ll miss the spills and miss the clutter,
Letting crumbs fall in my butter,
Using the same spoon to serve
The entrée, salad, and hors d’oeuvre.
Although I’ve barely just begun,
This “keeping neat” does not seem fun.
To wash one’s hands is always nice,
But must I truly do it twice?
And must I really not reuse
That pot with ziti residues?
And can’t I skip the cutting board
Just one more time ‘fore dying, Lord?
I’d rather not trim every green bean
On a surface spotlessly clean.
But when you have celiac
A dirty counter might attack.
Good hygiene may be worth a try
So my intestines will not die—
But can my cooking truly sate
Without a mess I’ve helped create?
There’s one solution I can see:
A messy workspace, just. For. Me.

Photo © Kate Scarlata










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