Sunday Poetry: Eloise Klein Healy

RECIPE WITH DOGS

Dogs, out of the kitchen!—repeated five times in ascending notes
and increasing volume as the hands sweep through the air
with or without cooking implement or towel.

Don’t drop anything because a dog will dart into the kitchen
and you will have to repeat step one and increase the volume
and perhaps even make a threat or two, step briskly toward them,

or if something does fall in front of the sink, a dog will dive
and get her/his nose under the lip of the cabinet
and maybe let out a yelly yelp

which is pretty much meaningless
in the lifetime of two dogs who are waiting at the edge
of the tile for the cook to turn her back and shift her

attention to the REAL recipe, the one with at least
a countertop full of leafy things with fronds dropping
where a skillful dog can reach and run from the room

with cilantro, kale, beet tops, anything green and gorgeous
anything that feels like a precursor to a real meal like that breast
of chicken unswaddled from its Saran wrap and pretty slippery

right now, pretty “possible” in the mind of a dog whose owner
is reaching into the cupboard, back turned, humming a tune
and not quite as mindful as she should be, silly believer

in what she just said for the three millionth time
in the life of these two canines—like they care
about repetition, maybe being reincarnations

of those kitchen loving poodles Gertrude Stein
used to spoil with little treats and little oppsy-dipsy pets,
little smoochy-mouth French words

that are even now taking our minds off the fact
the dogs are in the kitchen again and the cook
is back to step one, screaming, “Dogs!! Out of the kitchen!!”

--Eloise Klein Healy