What’s for dinner—a first draft, a few lines of metered verse with a side of green cabbage.
Peeled from my grandmother’s kitchen, the south,
pale green slivers scattered beneath a dull
blade. Full in the pot, salt, pepper, and stock
bubbling slow. I poured in piles of soft
feathered middles, raw cabbage to cook two
hours, until the flesh turns golden, seasoned
steaming cloud burst, boiling savory pot.