Non-stick frying pan.
Tablespoon of Vegetable Oil.
Medium heat, front left burner.
Two Thawed Chicken Tenderloins.
Kendra's Butcher Knife.
Cutting board, the big one.
Slice, slide, sizzle, POP.
Hot grease hurts.
Medium saucepan.
Filled halfway from the faucet.
Colander.
Eight spears of asparagus.
Yes, eight, and all for me.
Snapped.
Boil.
Chicken.
Lots of pepper.
Lots of thyme.
Golden brown.
Done!
Asparagus.
Barely tender.
Perfect.
Strain.
Butter.
Pepper.
Big green plate.
Red mug.
To the brim with Welch's Grape.
Divinity.
I'm out of chicken.
And asparagus.
And grape juice come to think of it.
But my lunch was fantastic.
Sorry about the simple sentences.
And the boring subject matter.
My mind's just thinking very simply today.
It's been nice.
Beautiful day. Schönen Tag.
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No Day Without A Line
- Claire
- United States
- I am guarded by snowy-wise mountains. They are my constants in a world so constantly spinning.
4 comments:
Mmmm...I can hear the sizzle and feel the splatter of hot oil. I see traces of myself, but other touches that are all your own. I never cook with thyme...I'll have to try it. Your dad will smile when he reads your drink of choice! One question: were you wearing your apron? So you were legit? Love you, Bear. xoxoMom
Claire, You can take a simple subject and make it beautiful. I love your ability to write a poem about anything. And I love your ability to write about anything. It makes everything some grander.
I love this... you're making me hungry, though, with all of this talk of asparagus spears. :)
good thing you are aMAAAAAZING, claire. i feel little after reading that, you seriously astound me. your words are like half and half or smooth smooth cream (? ha?) topped with some strawberries. you are wonderful. i hope you know it. i love you!
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