Soup

I am forever fighting the unforgiving and tattered face of time. Tick-tocking like a barking dog at my heels. I have already sold the slim slots between every hour to things that no longer seem important.

 I am trying not to just squeeze you in to the agenda of doing. 

You with your quiet composure of slow movements suspended beside me.

You having always asked for me to be with you in ways I couldn't understand. Today I am listening to the song wanting to be sung, the metronomic chopping of washed carrots on wood, the sizzle of coconut oil on the bottom of everything that will hold our being together.

I will slice the soft belly of tofu into bite-sized squares I imagine saving you. I will scrub each potato knowing our lives depend upon it. 

I will not be able to feed you, but surely I can put my whole heart into the necessity of soup.