Just after we were married, you tried to make
split pea soup at my parents trailer in Wisconsin
but the split peas wouldn’t soften; still, musty
smells mixed with the piney fragrance from outdoors
stimulated our appetites–probably the split peas
were on the pine wood shelf in the little country store
with the squeaky screen door for years, but you wanted
to make split pea soup on vacation in the Dells.
Tonight, the green peas I substitute for yellow ones
aren’t soft yet but I can smell the flavors blending:
like so many years ago, onions, ginger, apple and
sweet potato left over from Thanksgiving, with
coriander, cumin and turmeric. But there is no hurry.
You aren’t home yet and Lake Michigan outside
the window is conducive to navy blue reflection.
When you do return, finally, I’ll add the tart lime juice
and acidic tomatoes before serving to the simmering soup
for a contrast of flavors.
Jan Ball has had 325 poems published in various journals including: Atlanta Review,
Calyx, Chiron, Mid-America Review, Nimrod and Parnassus, in Australia, Canada,
Czech Republic, England, India and The U.S.. Jan’s three chapbooks and full
length poetry collection, I Wanted To Dance With My Father, are available from
Finishing Line Press and Amazon.
A wonderful paean to then and now.
Your poetic voice is made pure through your delicately chosen words. Kinda Plath-like.
Lovely poem! And now I have inspiration for tonight’s supper as well. Thank you!
You can taste and texturize the soup through the screen!