Medicine

There is quiet here,
as you prepare the meal,
cut, chop and set aside
the simple ingredients
that will somehow combine
into something savory and warm,
food to warm your broken soul,
if only for a moment.

There is comfort here,
among the simple things of your life,
familiar, trustworthy,
easy to understand,
no thought required,
only the simple actions
that allows your brain,
your heart,
to rest.

There is healing here,
a respite, a simple task
that matters to no one.
and when, hours from now,
you serve the meal,
no one will know it was not food
you prepared,
but medicine.

About this poem

When things are hard, a simple task is a distraction that often allows the mind and heart to quietly heal.

Tom