"Monday"
by Cindy Gregg
On this first day of November
it is cold as a cave,
the sky the color
of neutral third parties.
I am cutting carrots
for the chicken soup.
Knife against carrot
again and again
sends a plop of pennies
into the pan.
These cents,
when held to the gray light,
hold no noble president,
only stills
of some kaleidoscope
caught being pensive
and beautiful,
in the eye of this beholder,
who did not expect
this moment of marvel
while making an early supper
for the hungry children.
the sky the color
of neutral third parties.
I am cutting carrots
for the chicken soup.
Knife against carrot
again and again
sends a plop of pennies
into the pan.
These cents,
when held to the gray light,
hold no noble president,
only stills
of some kaleidoscope
caught being pensive
and beautiful,
in the eye of this beholder,
who did not expect
this moment of marvel
while making an early supper
for the hungry children.
I can relate to the carrots plopping into a soup pot. Been there, done that. In fact, I've been making soup, too, so this poem really hit the spot literally, figuratively, and metaphorically.
ReplyDeleteLove this poem. I just made chicken soup the other day with carrots...
ReplyDeleteThis poem reminds me of cutting the carrots for the lentil soup the other day. It is soup season and a time for home coziness.
ReplyDeleteAnd yet it's still so warm here! lol
What beautiful poetry 😁. Thanks for sharing and wishing you a very Happy November! J 😊
ReplyDeleteLovely, lovely poem!! :)
ReplyDelete