With great sadness I set down my fork.
Punjab eggplant was history.
I had spent six hours of the day wondering
What I would make for her for supper.
I had examined the refrigerator and the spice drawer
And in a most non-Midwestern way
Decided eggplant, onions, garlic, and Masala
Would rise to the occasion.
And so it was.
And so I sat
Tears streaming down my cheeks.
A day of worrying,
a day of hoping to satisfy . . .

Over.

And now, the aching emptiness of tomorrow's meals
began crawling up my spine.
Too many days, too much worry, too little to show,
This is a pain only a cook could know.