Making Up Is Hard To Do

Making Up Is Hard To Do

the last time I saw her

she was in the kitchen

making sauerkraut soup

in a pressure cooker

in the time it took her to

brown the bacon, onion

and garlic in oil she was

done with my excuses

the curt nod of her head

and the flick of her hand

was my clear dismissal

I obeyed her direct order

            I’d rather have

found a way back into

her good graces – to be

able to sit across from her

with a bowl of that soup

a slice of warm country

bread smothered in butter

a grilled sausage

and her sitting across the

table from me, laughing

if she only knew

how truly sorry I am

***

The smallest detail of a recipe in newsprint inspired this poem. The second after I saw it, I jotted the whole poem down in the margins of my crossword puzzle. It’s two parts outward spark, and two parts truth. The regretful feeling in this piece is very real. For me, it’s healthy and helpful to work it all out on the page, keeping the drama where it belongs. In art and outside of myself.

In propinquity,

Nic