Canned Memories

 

The days have grown shorter and

there is a chill hovering around the

last of the Maple leaves, as they dangle

listlessly from the branches that nourished them

Thoughts turn to all things warm – sweaters and

blankets and soup. My freezer is stocked with

containers of tomato soup made from the

fruit of our garden. Ripened by the sun, picked

and peeled, chopped and simmered with garlic and

basil and onion – ready to warm the body when

Winter makes itself at home, here.

But the soup that warms my soul with memories

is the kind that came in a red and white can, the one

made famous by Andy Warhol.  The soup my mother

served for lunch with small round crackers and a

cup of hot chocolate.

 

 

Poetics: Time for Soup!