First, cry your eyes out,
into a pot of unpeeled potatoes.
Chop 2 large onions furiously,
crying copiously.
Potatoes want lots of salt
to be savory.
You don’t need exact amounts.
Life won’t tell you how
to count or
how many more
tears you’ve got.
Just enough to fill the pot.
Be miserable for what you’ve lost
despair can feel endless,
sometimes it just needs to stop,
so try not to cry when you chop
the carrots, about a hand full.
You don’t want to cut off a finger or a limb.
Though losing her or losing him
feels like that,
being dropped
like a hot potato into
the shit can drive you senseless.
Your blindness before him,
like potato eyes covering skin,
You couldn’t see
how quick his turn-around
would be.
Cankerous lies,
tiny, poisonous eyes,
are wounds to grow up
and away from in any soil
you plant your wounded self in…
a flower rises up into the light,
the little eyes of you eventually
will regain sight.
Celery is bittersweet.
It tastes of regret,
and tears.
Chop the tops off like
you’d lop off the tree
your love once made.
You’re angry,
and who wouldn’t be?
Imagine instead chopping
off one of his appendages,
perhaps his third leg.
Remember his shambling, duck toed walk?
Peculiarly unattractive,
how you fell in love with it
because it was his.
This is a good thing.
It means your mind is flexible
and makes accommodations
for love,
unlike him,
who despite his obvious imperfections
required you to be the opposite.
Perfecting yourself daily,
like an onion peeled backwards.
Now you can rest,
let your backbone slide, and your skin shed.
Lean against the counter,
press your palms against your head.
Then pick up the spoon
and stir the pot.
Don’t think a whit,
about what you’re not.
Add some butter to the pan.
There will be another man.
Someone who is not afraid
to taste the bitter,
with the sweet.
Add the flour,
stir till browned.
Do not push your anger down.
Add the cream to make the roux.
What else can anybody do?
But season the soup
to meet our tastes,
which is hard
to find agreement on.
My grandparents fought
for sixty years,
seasoning soup.
Who was right,
who was wrong?
