in one hour, soup

it's forty

degrees so my mind wanders

towards

soup.

the big pot

on the stove

boiling

with potatoes,

celery

and onions,

carrots.

i can smell it now

as i come

through

the door, peeking

into the kitchen

at my

mother at the stove.

she smiles

and says

one hour,

now go wash up,

change your clothes.