Going Organic (WC)

(Wendy Cabell, June 29, 2024, feast day of Our Lady of Linares, the (above) Kasperov Icon of the Mother of God (also connected with Saint John the Baptist and Saint Tatiana), Madonna of the Milk (miracle predicted by Saint Charles Borromeo), Saints Peter and Paul, Saint Mary the Mother of John Mark. Image from here.)

Going Organic 

Nature does not hurry,

yet everything is accomplished.

― Lao Tzu

Snap! unfurl of umbrella. Outside, a neighbor huddles as she sprints. Me, I’ll finish up that social studies report today. Maybe. Grandma Dee is of an odd mind that sick days are for resting, getting well. 

She’s at the stovetop now, I wander over. A rare thing, this having her to myself. No full house soundboom, everyone’s off -- at work, school. “Potato soup”, Grandma says, slipping the lid on the pot. Its cozy steam draws me near.

“Are you putting in any chicken for protein?” I ask, anxious to rebuild some strength. “No, that would make it something else. Your Grandma Otten always gave us plain old potato soup when we were queasy.”

“How about some carrots and celery for the nutrients?” “No, just potatoes and sea salt. Don’t confuse your body with a bunch of other things. Starch settles your stomach. Salt balances the electrolytes. That’s what you need when you’re sick, you know — for things to just be very simple.”

All day long I’m sipping that potato soup, nibbling on saltines, and looking out the window. It’s become a movie theater of sorts. I nestle in. Sun’s slow slide between glow and hide the main feature. Thunder an intermission. A squeal from the toddler next door brings comic relief.

I suppose the homework can wait awhile. For the moment, I am home.

Fifty years later now, it's a perpetual sick day — severe neck injury, Complex Regional Pain, vision issues, GI distress. Every day I’m at home. Outwardly such quiet, peace. Inwardly still my penchant for elements, to do lists, toppling pile of causes, effects.

That is till I feel a presence, scoots me close sometimes. Points to moon’s languid rise out the window. Inner tide, she feels a tug, readies for the rain…

*From prompt: Freewrite as inspired by Li-Young Lee's “Persimmons", with an eye to remembering a conversation that has stayed with you, noting its setting, experience, and impact. From Robbi Nestor's Generative Writing class (the Poetry Salon), June 29, 2024.