The Zen of Cooking

I am fretting about surgery, dreaming of my scars.
Something has to come from this pain inside me—
a dinner, a story, a bowl of soup. Garlic opens 
my throat, slices of ginger soothe my stomach.
I pick up a knife to chop onions and mushrooms, 
scatter them like calm thoughts across rice.       
It is the miracle of the ordinary that soothes, 
the wonder of bread and yeast, the marriage
of lamb and garlic, salmon and dill. It is butter 
sizzling in the pan, onions becoming caramel crescents,
a ripe mango offering up its sweet flesh. 
I need to cover my needles of anxiety
with the gravy of effort. I need to soothe 
my nerves, drizzle them with a sweet glaze.  

GERALDINE CONNOLLY

Geraldine Connolly, born and raised in Pennsylvania, has published four poetry collections, including Province of Fire and Aileron. Her work has appeared in Poetry, the Gettysburg Review, and The Georgia Review. She has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Breadloaf Writers Conference, and the Cafritz Foundation. She lives in Tucson, Arizona.