Poem of the Week

Several years ago, I had a verrrrrrrrry bright student request a letter of recommendation from me. She had prepared an impressive c.v. which included the note that she wrote a poem every night. That's right. Every. Night.

So. It's a new year, no? Christie can take a picture a day, no? So why not a poem a week? I've been writing a poem a day, but I will not subject you to every single poem. I figure once a week I can get lucky.

I'm planning on posting a poem every Sunday, but yesterday I was wiped out with a wicked fever (which turned into a pretty good poem. It's the best I've written this week, anyway, so maybe I'll post it on Sunday).

So, without further ado, here's this week's offering:

Coq au Vin
January 5, 2008

Red wine, inexpensive but not necessarily cheap,
tickles my nose. Yellow onions burn my eyes.
The cutting board is piled with carrots and
my fingers are slick with chicken skin.

Dinner simmers.

A day’s work bubbles in the dutch oven:
An hour of list making; an hour in the grocery store.
An hour of rinse, scrub, cut, chop.
An hour of washing hands.

Dinner simmers.

The aroma, thick and warm, hovers in the air
like memory about to happen. Part anticipation,
part loss. The aroma, fine and sweet,
hovers in the air like a ghost.

Dinner simmers.

I wash my hands one last time:
of metaphor, analogy, of chicken fat.
I mean nothing more and nothing less
than carrots and chores and scent.

A day well spent.
A meal well cooked.
Coq au vin.