Instead of poems on my phone
these days I list daily
expenses: gas, groceries, electric,
so much more tidy than counting
syllables and tracking
my daily emotional balance.

Remember when oyster
mushrooms were a staple
on the grocery budget?
Then after that it was shiitakes.
We cooked them almost
weekly, their sinewy stems like meat.

They look
familiar and fresh
in their shiny packages today
under the produce department lights,
and the kale glistening
in the shopping mist. I toss
them in the cart and wheel on
calculating them into the budget.

Our words,
like grocery lists and budgets,
are functional these days –
communication kept to the basics.
“What are you cooking?”
“Kale and mushrooms”
“Which store did you find the shiitakes at? They remind me of the ones we used to find with stems.”
“Did you finish all the veggies?”
“I didn’t know you wanted any more.”
“It’s ok, it’s fine.”

But, on the stove I find
more mushrooms in the bowl.
All that remains of the kale are the
tiny crispy pieces.
I eat them from the pan – the tastiest of tidbits
and I ponder what it means to
seek out and savor
the seemingly insignificant bits that remain
in an empty cast iron pan.