she takes the bones
out of the broth dices
the frig’s orphaned vegetables
two large carrots ¼ onion
10 string beans some zip-locked
spinach rice from last night’s
takeout defrosts and cubes
a mystery meat and throws
it all in the pot
before long the smell snakes
through the house and under
her son’s door who puts down his
phone closes a book and bare-
foots it down to the kitchen
Hungry?
Mothers are the homemade soup
that has no name
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