I’m thinking of a fragrant soup recipe for a
cold and rainy day
I’d make it with bare feet on wooden floors and
retroactively, read the fucking recipe
so that it doesn’t burn
(I never do this)
And as per my culinary crass
It’ll be a milky
salty mess dressed with a meaty brine
lilting at my lips
Consisting, particularly, of the oils of
pine needles
to feed my nostalgia for Oregon
a side of stone ground mustard and
a smoked bratwurst
that snaps when you bite it
I’d call it Christmas stew for the
bitter and barefooted and
I’d make it for my crush and
he’d hate it
I never liked holidays much