Just Broth

A bay leaf swirled, a green slow boat,

on waves of carrots, soft and bright.

The steam rose up, a gentle coat,

against the chill of lonely night.

I stirred the pot, a quiet hum,

just me, and all these simple things.

A small relief, a solace come,

the comfort that the simmering brings.

And in each spoonful, warm and deep,

a kind of quiet, steady grace.

Promises that the body keeps,

a moment in this empty space.