Soup by Mario DeMatteo

it’s kinda chilly out there tonight / the air is struggling to capture the smell of burning logs and home cooking that dangle above the treetops / inside we’re making onion soup like French chef’s on Bourbon street / 6 onions/ 2 cloves of garlic / salt n pepper / parmesan cheese / don’t forget the beef stalk and fresh bread / / you chop / I stir / I chop / we mix / we pass and switch / I bump your butt with my...wheels / the fragrance of Nana’s recipe flees from the pot finding us in the middle of the world staring at each other / your hair looks perfect tonight / it drips down your back like winter in Paris / put the soup on simmer and tiptoe over to me / / Billy Holiday is singing a concerto just for us / I can’t help but wanna dance to the scratchy fuzz of the record player / I think it makes the soup smell better and the cold is only cold if your alone / Billy’s words are forever, “It’s just the thought of you,” she says.  “The very thought of you my love.”

here, hold my hand and come closer /  the soup no longer needs our attention / and plus, the fireplace is feeling lonely and left out / I think the smoke is telling the chimney secrets about you and I / the kindling crackles and out of the flames float words to a thousand stories we’ve yet to live / there used to be a TV in this room, but it got swept outside last spring / no need for TV when we tell stories to each other all night / keep talking  / tell me again about Larry, the little spider that lived behind the light / you used to feed him flies in winter time / on nights just like this / he relied on you like the flowers rely on God / no it’s not a weird story / tell me about your pet turtle or your mom’s enormous butt or that secret spot up on the roof you used to escape to when you wanted to be alone / come closer under the blankets / I can’t see you / kiss me

suppose that we stay here all night until the sun seeks refuge in the sky / I think the soup is ready / you say / keep my spot beneath the blanket /  I say / can you flip the record too / you say / think of another story / I say / hurry hurry / you say

eating Nana’s soup under the blankets and telling stories to each other is what will keep us together among other things / like cold nights when the moon presses against the window to spy on us and wishes she could cuddle with the stars / lying next to you // is salvation

I’m convinced / it smells like onion soup in heaven / and Billy Holiday sings for us all night