Patterns

Chicken Noodles—that’ll do.

I’m 8 again.

crinkling open the plastic wrapper

placing the dry block into the beige tupperware strainer

(worrying about something or other)

ripping open the seasoning foil

watching errant powder fall down to a life on the floor

(pretending I don’t see it)

moving the empty kettle to the sink

filling it only part way

(thinking only of myself)

hefting it back to its plastic cradle

waiting for it to finish doing its job

(stewing in impatience and resentment)

pouring boiling water gently because I know what hurt feels like

clamping down the beige porous lid

(shutting down)

setting a timer so that I know when to come back

playing while the universe helps the magic happen

(distracting myself with fantasies)

straining away what I don’t want or need

eating my favourite food

Chicken Noodles—that’ll do.

I’m 33 again.

knowing that some old patterns are worth repeating