Thankfulness, Fullness
©May 12th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
The hiss of the pressure cooker
Dispels silence.
Steam rises up, dead kidney beans
Giving up the ghost,
Imbued with peppers, onions,
Earthy potatoes, ginger.
Rice cooks in another pot, and
Steam fogs the kitchen window over the sink,
And the grey air clinging to the panes,
Gets pearly and soft.
The dog leaves the room.
This hiss is more than her canid brain can bear.
There’s nervousness in her manner,
And I feel a rush of sympathy.
But food is food, and it needs to be cooked.
Somewhere, long, long ago,
A canid sat behind a tree
And watched, as strange two-legged beasts
Made fires, roasted meat, ate it,
Tossed the remains into the shadows,
Where they knew their shadow companions waited.
Life and death dogged each other’s steps,
And food was a welcome respite.
I would not have been such a hominid.
Would have existed only as an idea, not even.
I am grateful to be here, now,
Not there, then.
My canid will still be fed.
Life flows more softly, her fears are gentle,
And the purple darkness
Unsticks from the windows,
And there is no fear of starvation –
Not yet.
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