After all the unearthing in November, there is something magical about December. Things begin to make sense that didn’t before. We look forward to the new year. We breathe and reflect and forgive and give and take.
It’s also soup season!!! I have been wanting to try to make soup this year. This recipe and this recipe look especially delightful. I love the idea of throwing things together in a big pot and letting the flavors all mix and melt together. I love the variety of soups. I love a good crusty bread on the side.
Speaking of soups, here is a poem I wrote about soup. It’s a poem about change. About giving and receiving. About vulnerability and confusion and hope. Enjoy xx
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Soup in December
There are days where
It feels like the world is
Simmering inside of me.
A large, hearty soup.
Steel pot, set on a burner heated to medium-high.
Vegetables, bone broths,
Spices, garnishes,
Chopping and throwing
And tossing and whisking
Hoping it all makes sense
Hoping the flavors complement nicely.
**
There are days where
It feels like the world is
Simmering inside of me.
I squint hard at the recipe now,
Trying to make sense of it:
The inevitable cycle of life.
Autumn is depressing,
The trees are undressing,
Leaves paving the way to their own funeral.
Breathing, yearning,
Breathing, changing,
Breathing, dying,
Trying, ourselves, to be reborn.
**
There are days where
It feels like the world is
Simmering inside of me.
Wouldn’t we ask, like Nicodemus,
The literalness of our rebirth?
“Tell us the process,” we say,
“Show us the blue prints,
Give us the plans,
Reassure us that you know
What you’re doing.”
Maybe God will laugh,
Maybe God will point to the leaves.
**
There are days where
It feels like the world is
Simmering inside of me.
Bubbling up to the surface,
Mixing together new feelings
With old memories
Tenderizing, magnifying
Old flames and new faces
Spices, garnishes, the scent
Smothering, lifting, transferring
A spoonful, heaping,
Overflowing,
My mouth burning at the bitter cup
Sipping in the cool bursts of air
**
There are days where
It feels like the world is
Simmering inside of me.
I use a ladle to fill a bowl for you,
I give it all,
holding nothing back.
I watch carefully as
You bring a spoonful to your mouth.
Uncertainty
Grief
Changing temperatures
Changing social circles
Twisting,
Wiping down counters, ringing out a washcloth,
Squeezing out a few more drops
Of what I have to give.
Later, you use that washcloth to soothe
My fever.
And it is all a gift.
What a deliciously complex recipe of a poem. So many flavors to savor.
I don't know how you do it! Many things to think about - and applaud! You are a deep thinker, for sure. I relish every part of it. Thank you for posting, sweet Kimber! ♥♥