I dream of marzipan
and swim into
Frei's half-stripped
Delicat essen
in Chicago; Marzipan,
Marzipan, Mr. Frei says
you can't get the real thing
in this neighborhood or in
any other neighborhood
in this country.
You need real
almond paste
but here they use
kernels from peach stones.

Breaststroke to Brooklyn
and search in the streets
for peach pits
so many bags full
were there such crowds
eating fruit in the streets?
Did the peaches
squash to the ground
and rot to their hard seed?
My aunt threw one out of the wndow
Once and started a peach tree.

I empty my bag
on the back porch
and smash the stones
with a hammer
sort out the kernels
mash them into a paste
mix with water
for ORZATA
white, thinner
than skim milk
a milk bottle full
in the refrigerator.

Backstroke to Chicago
to pick up head cheese
and mortadella.
I hand Mr. Frei
a ten dollar bill.
He assembles change
For five on the counter.
I point.

I'm sorry I'm sick
my wife in the back
room is sick my mind
wanders please sir
forgive me
after all these years
we'll move out of this
neighborhood out of this
city before they come
to chase us
or take us away.