A breath of garden dinner Gerry Stewart

Gerry Stewart

Grind thyme and lemon with salt to the kitchen’s hum, kettle and pot, children’s voices asking the eternal what’s for dinner.

My cool palm carries the scent deeper, kneading the day’s weight, its push and pull, into the dough.

Staccato knife on wood, carrots and fingers still engrained with soil I tended.

A step back to the pinched stem, heel to shovel, cutting the earth, to bring forth music.