I want to learn
to cook myself
like stew---
the meat of me,
the blood red wine,
rare mushrooms
hidden in the woods
of me, my secret
onion parts-deep earth
roots-potato-plain
and sweetly carrot,
the herbs, the salt
and pepper spice,
my tomato-self,
both tang and acid.

Simmer long and slow
in the big black enamel
roaster of souls until
I blend together, meld,
produce a richness,
flavor, texture,
a genuine bouquet.

Enough time covered
tightly in the dark
to heat clear through
before I have to boil
and bubble, pretend
to be a dish for serving.

Trusting the cook,
the stove, the process;
no longer a machine,
but food,
so life can finally get
its fill, and I won't
have to die
uneaten.

-Linda Lee Albert