Alphabet Soupçon

Tre donne e un buffet“I’m writing more these days”
A savory phrase, she delivers between thin slices of white bread.
A delicious side dish to make my ears quiver
in anticipation
elation
sensation.
I await the next word
that drops from her timid pen.
“The odd shaped ones are the tastiest”
I wait to chew my brain around the next
oddly shaped word to sizzle off her griddle
laptop keys that form a waffle weave on my cheek
as press my ear to hear
the word before she writes it.

“I want to write more, maybe everyday.”
My brain/mind/heart/tongue do a giddy squaredance
as I envision what kind of dish she will serve me next.
Spicy? No, savoury…mmm…maybe a sour hit of hard times stirred in with
a taste of sugar warmed by the fire of brandy soaked days of a well-lived life.
Or…possibly a sweet sweet chocolate syrup drizzled lazily over
a soft peach of summer time when her life was fine.
Or…a New York steak, freshly seared by her wit and softened with her side of potatoes…oh not mashed, but pressed from staple, steady hands that have seen their share of lean times, but now… ah…now, there is plenty.
Or… a crunchy, crisp salad of possibilities sliced thin and thick, a fresh crunch on a life lived in far off places served with a wedge of lemon that garnishes my smile.

Mmm…maybe… she is cooking up a soup, a slow simmer of thoughtful ingredients,
gathered carefully from all her fully flavored days.
A delicious feast that takes the time it takes,
when the time it takes is taken,
please take the time, please take the time, please take that time, please.

Please.

Take your time.

Your words are worth the wait.

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