Sting
Pierces my eyelids
My nose runs, then my eyes
I pause the rhythmic chop of onion
To avoid sliced finger tips
On to the celery
Thinly sliced so it will
meld into the soup, with its essence in tact
Smashing garlic fulfills an
Urgent need in me
Awakens me
Potatoes peeled, chopped,
½ inch cubes
Placed in warm broth
Simmering and softening
I have never prepared this dish before
I am aware I cannot know how it will turn out,
All I know - I need to create,
Put myself at the mercy of larger
Forces - thermodynamics, flavor, spirit and luck
I play my humble role
Greet each ingredient,
Recognize its uniqueness
Then invite it to be changed
By its environment and neighbors
Into a new form
Recognizable yet altered
I contemplate:
Do I open to the reality of our
Connected existence
And allow myself to be changed
By my environment and neighbors?
1 Comment
This is a fabulous poem! Have you considered submitting it to Bon Appetite or something? It would be so great for so many of us to think on this as we try new recipes.