Cooking Up the Self
Listen to poem:
roots wrenched from the soil
tendrils ripped from trellis frames
I scour myself raw
clutching a fragile harvest
in my bare, cold, trembling hands
A knife slashes through
the bruises and bitter scars
etched deep in my skin
leaving only what still glows
and can sustain my hunger
steam clouds coil and writhe
from the pot of shattered parts
softened by the heat
rendered down, made pliable
enough to begin again
I devour this dish
a meal for my well-being
inflamed with spices
for renewal, bite by bite
to face tomorrow's trials
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2025
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