"Da Capo" by Jane Hirshfield + Lentil Stew with Chestnuts

You’ve heard the advice before: Write it down on a slip of paper and burn it, or wrap it with twine and thrust it into the ocean tied to a rock. Whatever it is, a vice, a relationship, a past, the physical act of releasing it to the universe is supposed to encourage an emotional release, too.

I’m here with Jane Hirshfield again, making lentils. This time, the speaker of this poem finds a subject who is broken and encourages her to “take the used-up heart like a pebble/ and throw it far out.” What comes next is a specific instruction to go home and make soup. The speaker provides details, tells us which order to prepare the ingredients. To do it, because, if one is in the position of just returning from throwing out their old heart, it might be impossible to put one foot in front of the other. So the list is one of grace, care and meant to aid the renewal process. Also, when you return from throwing out your heart, you may be hungry but not realize it, and need a little reminder to engage in the very basic act of feeding yourself.

"Bread" by W.S. Merwin + Kale Stem Crostini

Once in a while we have the opportunity to marvel at something. Maybe it's an 800 year-old building filled with ancient footsteps. Maybe it's something new: a baby, a song, a soulful view at the edge of a cliff, or the feeling of satisfaction after eating a sumptuous meal. Have you ever marveled at bread? Tapped its crust, held the length of it up to your nose to inhale the yeasty dough, savored the soft crunch when you took your first bite, smeared with a creamy cheese?

"Canned Food Drive" by Kathleen Lynch + Roasted Pea and Purple Barley Salad

As a child, when did you first become aware that people in the world who lived differently than you? I was about 10 years old. For several years, my family had volunteered at a meals-on-wheels-style nonprofit just one city over. I was still young, so my job usually involved scooping mashed potatoes into the plastic containers, or tying ribbon on Christmas presents in December, but this particular time, I rode in the car with my dad to help with the deliveries. We joined several other volunteers and made our way to motels and mobile home parks, knocking on doors and handing out the hot meals. It was Thanksgiving morning, a day to be grateful. We had made our way around the entire building but still had extra meals in the back of a truck, so we started making rounds again asking if anyone needed an extra one. A girl answered the door, about my age, and without so much as a breath of hesitation said, "No thank you. Other people need it more than me."