the old crone
essence of chickensoupas thoughit were chicken soupitself, mistaking the hum inher veinsfor the imagined chicken’s parting giftwhileI know it to beno morethan hotwater’s momentary warming,and how momentary when even nakedflame would howland wigglean injured finger, frostbitten, comingtoo closeto thewaft of departing chill.[From: How Do You Withstand, Body; Publisher: Clearing House, Mumbai, 1976]