Sometimes when I am doing a thing that takes me from writing, giving up my "personal time" to do something for another, what I find is that I am still writing. Just not on paper... A saying that is often attributed to St. Francis is this: Preach always; when necessary, use words. I guess the same goes for writing a poem...
Cooking tofu on the porch in an electric skillet
after marinating it
overnight in a bath
of soy sauce, maple
syrup, garlic, chili
powder, ginger, and rice
-wine vinegar,
I sit here in the damp heat
delicately turning each soft slice
ginger and garlic sizzling into the air
trying carefully to singe the edges
turning each slice with care
to see that it burns only enough
just the way you like
because after 2 weeks of radiation
singing the inside of your stomach
with such delicate care
it is all you ask for
though the smell
of cooking makes you sick
When I come inside
plate of browned
dominos (we used to call them) still hot
(just the way you like)
with delicate care you will
take one and smile
(and that will be too much)
And even as you push the plate away
you will thank me for them
all
