My love asked me why
I was staring at the cheese,
Why I smiled at the lettuce,
Why I relished breaking eggs.
My love asked me why
I took so long to make dinner,
And why I ate so slowly.
“Are you trying to get thinner?”
I explained it was no diet,
Nothing Oprah tried to sell me.
It was simply what was proper
When carving up a turkey.
It’s right to take some time, slow down,
And contemplate his life and death.
His meat I eat gives energy to these lungs,
So I offer him a thankful breath.
By cooking and eating slowly
And silently
It’s not to be weird or to be a bore.
It’s to take time to make my mind
Not see a just a leg of meat,
But so much more.
I continued:
On my cutting board I see the Sun.
That which holds us in orbit
At just the right distance
And fed these cucumbers I chop into pieces.
These greens to prepare require the Sun,
And I see that condition and existence are one.
Gently placing mushrooms in hot olive oil
I’m sautéing the world in a non-stick skillet
With a spoon made of stars,
Steam rises to my face,
Soaking it with volcanic vapors
From prehistoric Hawaiian islands.
The whole universe is working, right now,
To give me life.
I must remember the cosmos
That imbue this body and this brain with vitality;
They are staring right at me in this bowl of spaghetti.
I stare right back for a minute, drop all other things.
Even a cupcake is the remains of ancient kings;
I scatter the sprinkles on top
As delicately as I would their ashes on a tree.
That their works did not contribute to this snack,
There is no guarantee.
Before my first bite from a bowl of rice
I marvel for a moment.
I owe gratitude to countless beings
For each spoonful.
Trillions of organisms decayed
To bring forth fertile soil—
I eat their rotted corpses.
Millions of farmers toiled to master
The technique of growing rice—
I eat their sweat.
Businessmen manage the packaging and shipping
That brings rice to my grocery store—
I eat their college tuition.
With every grain I swallow,
I eat the precious universe.
I eat the sum of all that ever was.
So I take a spoonful and hold it on my tongue,
Breathing deep;
For there’s no greater crop
Than what the knowing stillness reaps.
He asked me then:
So if this rice you eat so tenderly
Is all the world to you,
Then what does that make me?
I answered:
In your eyes I see the Sun.
That which made the food grow
That you needed in your belly
To grow those long arms
With which you first held me.
This life of ours requires the Sun,
And I see that condition and existence are one.
