Making Soup in January

A poem


A kind of violence

required —

thwack of knife on cutting board,

sweet potato’s tough flesh split,

onion chopped to tears


Pohk — the can opener’s

cranky circuit

liberates chick peas,

highlighting a need

for colour: green

pepper to wake

an eye, dispel


sluggishness — oh, logy

as a sleep-drugged bear,

stiff as the backyard’s crusted snow


Months until

green breaks through


In the pot, onions release

raucous fragrance,

yams soften, tomatoes

bleed acid into broth —


the steam a moist balm as I stir