Tonight, with Wine, this Salad
Tonight with wine
I credit my love for cooking
With my love for writing
Because both begin
With the tiniest flick
Of inspiration
Be it something I heard
And can’t stand to let go
Be it something I bought
And won’t allow to go bad.
There’s a freedom in cooking
I add this and add that
There’s a freedom in writing
My words turn sentences turn memories turn memoirs
Both are productive
My mother-in-law says,
“Cook! What else are you going to do?”
I say,
“Write.”
Both are movements that feel
Extremely, extremely familiar to me
And both require
A simple kind of meditation
And patience
To keep the ingredients
To keep the words
Appropriately cut
Appropriately formed
Beautiful and meaningful