Friday, December 18, 2015
Stock, Celery, Carrots
stock, celery, carrots.
What of the egg, the seed, your hand in mine
last winter, or the one before?
The chicken, the garden, the blackberry summer
never knew what hit them--
Look now and you won't find a damn thing.
I stir stock, celery, carrots--
the pot steams my windows til I'm blind.
Still, I go through the motions, because that's the expected thing.
I don't even feel the bowls in my hand--
I have no appetite at all, and yet I am the Mistress of Delicious Things
Consumed by others and praised
until they set their wet spoons down to stain the cloth.
A bitchy little number for Kerry's challenge about time, at Real Toads.