For E.P.E., D.M., and J.J.
When the whirlwind struck, sucked our spirits dry,
Three women, versed in grim and stunning fear,
Moved, quietly, to float our sinking lives
On gifts of soup. Not frankincense nor myrrh,
Not even gold matched the formulary
Compounded (magic’ly) to heal our woe.
First came Eileen’s night-time delivery—
Rich chicken-vegetable ambrosia;
Next, Debra’s golden bean, thick, nourishing—
Leeway to face another storm-lashed day.
And then Joanne—ah Joanne—avenging
Angel—brought three brisk, scented separate
Brews. These soups (despite a fragrant bloom of farts)
Both served our flesh and lifted up our hearts.
(2/18/08)
Note: Some of you may remember the Magi (who followed the star of Bethlehem to visit the infant Jesus) brought gifts: frankincense, myrrh, and gold.