Tonight, with Wine, this Salad

Tonight with wine

I credit my love for cooking

With my love for writing

Because both begin

With the tiniest flick

Of inspiration

Be it something I heard

And can’t stand to let go

Be it something I bought

And won’t allow to go bad.

There’s a freedom in cooking

I add this and add that

There’s a freedom in writing

My words turn sentences turn memories turn memoirs

Both are productive

My mother-in-law says,

“Cook! What else are you going to do?”

I say,


Both are movements that feel

Extremely, extremely familiar to me

And both require

A simple kind of meditation

And patience

To keep the ingredients

To keep the words

Appropriately cut

Appropriately formed

Beautiful and meaningful