Sunday, December 18, 2005

new poem : yellow soup

yellow soup

raw chicken body
bruised at the thighs
floats in cold water
still no soup for the sick

no spoons either
the world without stainless steel
nothing shines anymore

how close the kitchen is
when you sleep in the living room
pillows far away

like puzzle pieces
we lose ourselves
our bodies in constant destruction
dead cells collect at corners
the broom cannot reach

on my knees
toothbrush and cleanser in hand
is no better

people were here before
have done this all before
and did no better

turn on the stove
at least that heat keeps the house tolerable
fingertips and toes always cold

where is that hand I once loved?
no longer resting itself on my back
no longer warming my fingers

don’t forget turmeric
coloring the soup
dying the fingernails
the meat falling from the frame
in ribbons

the soup is not enough
paint the door yellow
let everyone know
we need help

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