Sink Lunch 

When I was young
these were the best lunches…
they meant something drippy, maybe
messy, handheld, you might need the stool
that has stood for generations.

Today, it was a perfectly jammy
hardboiled egg while looking out
over raised beds of imagined meals, 
making soup in my mind with
the zucchini roasting behind me,
white beans, and broth.

On the stool, leaning in and over as best I could,
I’d eat and watch the water drops
roll into each other, wondering
how big a drop could get.
Early fascinations.

Now, I notice purple finches
in between the chard and carrots
and wonder which they prefer.
I check the pan of squash-not yet—
consider spices for the winter’s simple feast—
and lick my finger to dab the last of the yolk.

Kimberly M. King