It's all in the movement of the wrist | Front Porch | Indy Week

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It's all in the movement of the wrist

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(Nov. 3, 2004)

I have a soup pot,
cast iron, heavy, overlapping the burner,
blue.
And yesterday, while I was heating it
to cook the onions for pea soup,
it cracked (hear the knell).
I saw daylight through.
It sits, in memoriam, on the front porch,
next the orchid tiny budding for the first time,
next the purple beans with spots
(a mix of the red and the blue?)
which I pull from this year's vines, withered now,
perhaps to grow in my spring garden.

Perhaps.

Perhaps to fill the pot with dirt,
plant herbs to grow,
the too much water seeping through the crack,
not water over the dam.
My car, a Hybrid, shines.
I waxed it as I listened to
concession then acceptance speeches on the car radio,
volume turned up high, through windows all shut.
I have never waxed a car before--
the water sheens off it.

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