I am in control
chopping onions into thin slivers,
adding parsley to the pot, scraping off
every fragile piece of chicken from the bone.
Returning handfuls to the stock, I find
my fingernails filled with bits of chicken,
shining with grease.
I could almost get inside this soup,
swim around with the hearty chunks of potato,
dodging the celery and carrot,
waiting for plenty of pepper,
a shake of salt, bay leaf and cumin.
I'd eat me with a huge slice of white bread.
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