Love is making soup
Chopping up carrots
With her fingers
Soft as silk
Placed over mine
The pieces
Finding their way
Around the gentle
Pathways of wrinkles
That is her hand
Together,
She guides my
Knife-wielding fist
To the onions
We cry together
Through our smiles
And burning eyes
Peppers? She asks
And we slice them
Together
A pinch of salt
A dash of pepper—
Though we linger a little
As it’s tipped
We drop it all into the
Bubbling, churning water
Waiting for its feast
A pile of radishes
Picked from the garden
And snow peas
That grow in the spring
A handful of each
But my hand’s too small
I protest
She curves my fingers around
Your hands are perfect
By Megan
By Megan
