I come to steal you back from
work as well as tell you dinner’s
done—we made it through
another day of work: amen.
To cook a meal is work.
Amen.
To cook a meal for you
is joy. Amen. As I
chopped and fussed and
stirred, I traced the arcs
of stirrings past—this blue
pot’s been host to
stews, soups, flops, and
glorious braises for three
generations: metal lasts.
Metal things are hard things
to be rid of—enamel cast iron
cookware or world expo cast-offs—
metal things are the last to go:
the Parachute Jump, a wedding ring,
neither forfeit form over time.
Unlike our own elastic
form, shape-shifted by
time and gravity, theirs is
the same as day one: the amusement ride’s
steel ribs and armature,
the ring’s inscription.
Beth Dufford lives, works, and writes in Kerhonkson, NY and New York City. Her work has appeared in Barrow Street, The Little Magazine, Rise Up Review, Common Ground Review, Crab Creek Review, High Shelf, Cathexis Northwest Press, and The Greensboro Review. Chapbooks: Microscopic Peaceful Implosions, Eyewear Publishing (2018); The Catalog of Daily Fears, Cathexis Northwest Press (2022).