My name is Cally Jane Ward. I am a mother, a student, a working-class proletarian, a former chef, a community advocate, and a lover of learning.
I am currently completing my undergraduate degree as a non-traditional student in Sustainable Foods and Bioenergy Systems at Montana State University. Throughout this program we are asked to critically examine our social and cultural relationships with food systems. I created this collection of poems as a narrative of my food story and Jennifer has graciously invited me to share them here.
I belong in two conflicting categories: colonizer, as a white person whose family history is deeply entwined in the subjugation of indigenous peoples and the theft of their land and identities; and oppressed, as a working-class single mom. This is a tricky space to be as I examine our modern cultural practices surrounding food. The deep understandings that I have gained are in no small measure due to the grace and dignity with which many of my Indigenous peers, fellow students, and MSU faculty have engaged me in learning the often ugly truth of our shared food systems history on this land. I will be forever grateful to them.
My food story is not a linear one. I have experienced chaos, poverty, food insecurity, abuse, disordered eating, and trauma in my life. The duality in this understanding is that I have also experienced the joy, belonging, healing, and nourishment that community can bring. My life work is to educate working class, food insecure, and disenfranchised populations in self-determination and community resilience through home gardening, food systems justice, and local sustainable food systems.
-Cally Jane Ward
The Soup Chef
Perpetually Not the Sous
Can’t stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen.
Meticulously chopped, julienned, and diced.
My labor devoured with a slurp of your spoon,
translates to a negative balance in my checkbook.
Can’t stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen.
Artfully constructed broth, coaxed gently to complexity,
salted to oblivion before it passes your lips.
Symphony of flavor drowned by ritual consumptive speed.
Can’t stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen.
Delicately developed palate and fine-tuned senses,
breathing in tar, lungs filled with dull, poison smoke.
Sacrificed for a ten-minute break in the alley by the dumpster.
Can’t stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen.
Thoughtfully curated menu, painstakingly prepped hotline,
faithful crew fueled by amphetamines, and verbal abuse.
Broken and bloodied by empty tables, or packed ones all the same.
Can’t stand the heat. Get out of the kitchen.
Fifteen years in the weeds, knife an extension of my arm,
might give me a raise, maybe a promotion, even a vacation?
No. More responsibility, distant shiny promises, and a pizza party.
Can’t stand the heat. Getting out of this kitchen.
_______________________________________________
Mom Food
Soggy frosted flakes, left in the bowl poured for them with eyes still closed, sleep still in retreat just behind.
Semi-cold coffee, twenty-four hours old at least, slightly warmed by the faithful microwave oven again.
Half an everything bagel with hastily smeared cream cheese. On the run out the door, everything on the run.
Deep drag of cigarette smoke between swigs of caffeine before Nutrition class, seasoned by a swish of mouthwash.
Heady spice of judgmental side-eye glances at the audacity of a soft, round body in form fitting…anything.
Luxurious pause between bites of slightly-
soggy from-the-Tupperware, leftover feta, spinach, and bacon salad.
First calm moment, a rare, delicious delicacy. Savored with deep breath and the snap of chalk on blackboard.
Piping hot afternoon latte with an extra shot of “finish the day,” last swig tastes strangely like paperwork.
Smell of ink from a misspelled name on the paper cup, like a fresh signature on a mortgage might smell.
Extra crunchy chicken nugget, stray from the bottom of the oven, savored morsel between chores and homework.
Forgotten Mac & Cheese in gelatinous disc form, over the sink full of dirty dishes, Clean Plate Club member for life.
Sweetest, most delicious snuggles, the crispy
sound of mispronounced words read out loud for the first time.
Soul satiation of a goodnight forehead kiss, followed by the comforting sigh of deep unburdened childhood dreams.
Oreos with peanut butter, crackers and cheese, bowl of cheerios with a banana, charcuterie of missed intent.
Satisfaction of laying head on pillow, having fed and been fed…to the brim with kindness, love, attention, and care.
Try tomorrow for organic, whole, healthy, slow, low fat, high protein, unprocessed, fresh, holy, sanctified…food.
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