We plan dinner
about every five minutes,
This is what we do:
You pull out each box of Instant
and say we could add chicken, we
could add broccoli, we could add
mushrooms, Oh, no, you don’t like
mushrooms. Oh, but I do and your
smile delights even the crumbs on
your four-day old sweatshirt, you
open wide your arms and we hug
and cry, “mushrooms” as if to celebrate
a spongy spore is what brought us
to the center of your kitchen and not
the straining of touch or need to rewind
and start over.
Last week I asked why you never said
those words and you said your mother
said them too much so you decided
you’d never say them.
Together we slice mushrooms into shadow
hearts, the late trade-off for the three little words
I never heard and we discuss dinner.
This is what we do.
Written for PAD Day 15
Write a Trade-off Poem