Auto Reply: Re: Medication Refill
(listen to the poem, read by the Diane R. Wiener)
I stepped away to get my ____ off of it
I stepped away to get off of it
I stepped away
I stepped away to get off
And left my lunch simmering on the stove.
A tomato soup days in the making.
Prepared with canned tomatoes
Expired chicken stock and
Fresh Carrot Greens.
Left overnight, in the blender,
On the floor,
Next to the bowl and the spoon.
Now preserved on the shelf in a rubbermaid tub
next to a carton of cracked eggs.
To be left and forgotten, or used and forgotten,
Or remembered and
When I sip it on the second day only salt hits my palate
Blame it on my clumsy hands, or clumsy tongue,
Or the boxed chicken stock and canned tomatoes.
Microwaved and Lukewarm,
This doesn’t fill me up.
On the third day I disappoint myself.
Lentils
Pulled from behind stacked bricks of ramen noodles (the good stuff)
To add substance to my thought, and give the flavor room to breathe.
While it simmers on the stove for
10, 15, 20, 30, 45, minutes
I mourn my expectations.
Days on this soup
Months on my mind
Years on my life
I stepped away to get my
off of it
I stepped away to get off of it
I stepped away
I stepped away to get off
And left my lunch simmering on the stove.
The sun hits my skin for the first time.
I focus on looking normal as my eyes burn inside and out.
My hat is glued onto my head
Backwards
So I hold my eyes shut for longer as I blink,
without moving.
Because my face is as clumsy as my hands.
I spend six dollars to sit in the park.
My soup bubbles up the back of my neck, to re-mind me.
But the park is calling me to stay, as it called me to sit.
Dead leaves scratch my legs
but I thank their descendants for the shade.
I plan to return with a rake to give them a proper burial.
And in that transformation reveal a soft spot underneath.
I hope I can re-mind myself
How I felt in that moment I decided what I wanted.
Uninhibited by the shade of the unfallen leaves,
The soup is beginning to burn my skin.
The acrid smell carried lazily on the forgiving summer breeze,
To re-mind me.
I pick up trash on the sidewalk, as a promise to the leaves
Before I leave anyway,
Because I’m called by the other promises I’ve made.
This doesn’t fill me up.
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About the Author
Sabrina Kowal (they/them) is a lesbian with ADHD studying revolution in Minneapolis, Minnesota.