how about some soup?
having soup with dad
listen to me read the poem here. 🎧
But first, the preamble before the poem:
It’s a wild ride watching your parents age. This reversal of things takes some getting used to. You once held up a coat for me to arm into, directing the coat so the opening could find my tiny hand, and now, I am holding the coat up for you, directing the coat to find your arm, (on the sly, so you don’t think you need the help.)
We’re all just walking each other home.
- Ram Dass
As a kid, I had a recurring nightmare of my mom dying. I thought I couldn’t possibly exist in a world without her. But it’s been almost nine years, and here I still am, and it’s okay. I talk to her in my head, and so she lives on. And my dad, well, he gave us a big scare a few years back with a sudden bout of dementia. Which we now understand doesn’t really work that way so we think his symptoms were triggered by a mini-stroke. My husband and I moved him four minutes from us and we visit daily. But more on that experience another time. For now, here’s a poem about having soup with dad. And my wish for you—many soups with the ones you love.
i don’t want the soup i want the memory of having had the soup
so here i am
dad has a century of spoons behind him
he noveled the plays to write the world
and he still ended up here
we don’t have many delis left
the soup is clam chowder with no clams they must’ve
escaped the fat/dodged the potatoes/ evaded the cream
good for them
our silent slurps carry no yums (but we eat anyway)
i used to hop a cab to Piccadilly Square when things got pickled
you never told me that, he says
there’s a lot i haven’t told you, i say
i’m ready for more BOOPS to BOP
but we get distracted by the angry table
it begins to rumble/shake and fume/hot and pissed
it splits and shatters in the middle pine torpedoes shooting up in the air
splintered sorcery lighting up the moon/magic mud turkish coffee
shapes become things things become stories hot oranges fighting the darks
i must step in - step up
i must do something - do anything
so i
soft pajama the crackled desert
so i
glue and varnish his forgotten bits
so i
make crispy burnt yesterdays
flicker and fall
and gather at our feet
invisible tears fire hydrant the moment/extinguish the burn/smooth the smolder
some cinders remain
i tell dad not to be afraid i’m right here i’m having the soup
so we take off our shoes and splash in the embers