Shaved brussels
Not yet past their prime
Fresh peas, though the ideal
Unneeded, now, to build this meal

Please pray with me
My dying wish — the miso’s not gone bad
In the refrigerator way

Kitchen shears that snip-snipped happily at chives that waited just for me
All
Summer
Long
Somehow found their way to the floor
Could be an honest omen, or
A sign of what’s to come

Not my garden’s tomatoes, fool
They’re for another day!

Please forgive the white, white rice
Devoid of what I crave

Sesame to remind me and tofu hacked haphazardly
Tamari, I wish

Here, this delicious dish