Food Poem – Monday by Cindy Gregg

On this first day of Novemberit is cold as a cave,the sky the colorof neutral third parties.I am cutting carrotsfor the chicken soup.Knife against carrotagain and againsends a plop of penniesinto the pan.These cents,when held to the gray light,hold no noble president,only stillsof some kaleidoscopecaught being pensive…and beautiful,in the eye of this beholder,who did not… Read More Food Poem – Monday by Cindy Gregg