I Try to Be a Poet

Soup

It started with a hunger for soup.

It was cold and rainy,

A weather that makes people chilly and uncomfortable.

And what better remedy for such a feeling

Than soup.

She gathered the best ingredients that she could find,

Not quite enough to make the most delicious of soups,

But enough to satisfy her hunger.

She placed the soup atop a gas stove and lit it,

Frowning in disappointment at the flickering flame,

But at least the soup was warming.

And then the unthinkable happened.

She was chopping up ingredients for her soup,

When her fingers slipped and the blade cut her hand.

In a rush to address the wound, she left her soup unattended.

The soup bubbled out of control.

Some nearby paper towels were knocked over into the flame,

And they quickly caught ablaze,

And the bright licks of fire spread quickly around the room.

Before she could do anything, the flames surrounded her.

The smoke consumed her, rushing into her lungs

And suffocating her.

She coughed and wheezed in an attempt to breathe easy,

But to no avail.

Just as the concept of hope had escaped from her body,

Just like the good clean air,

She ran.

Through the flames, burning her skin.

She made it outside,

Where the air was fresh and clean and the sun warmed her hair.