A Bowl of Incense and a Spoon

With the good knife rescued
from a thrift store pegboard,
The soup pot thurible is ready
to incense the kitchen chapel.
halve the onion, slice from the root,
cross cut into a small dice.
I settle my senses into this
welcome ritual of prayer and blessing.
Garlic: three cloves or four, depending,
mashed into a paste with flakey salt.
I make my offering bit by bit,
my mind resting with you.
You two, go dance with the olive oil until
you are ready for company.
The heart catches up and finds its ease,
breathing deeply with the invitation.
How many baby carrots make a medium carrot?
This many? Five more. Slice. Scrape. Into the pot.
Fill me, move through me, pray with me,
use these my hands, that smell now of supper and earth.
Six cups of homemade stock, gift of an earlier meal,
two chicken breasts, bring to a boil.
There is less to say, and more to feel, and
much to hear, and room to spare.
Shred the chicken with two forks, add back in
with orzo or rice or something else small and starchy.
I love being honest with you about how much I enjoy some things
and how hard other things can be.
In another bowl, whisk two yolks and the juice of a lemon.
Temper with a ladleful of broth and add back to the pot.
My sigh is my amen and my gratitude.
Grace has been experienced—the meal is ready.
To finish, add a judicious handful of dill-
stemmed and chopped, then stir.
Serve.

Kimberly M. King