The way a cup of black tea is easily changed
by milk or light—
The way soybeans are left to soak
until they bloat. Blended until they are broken
down into paste and pressed into a brittle clump of tofu—
The way a drumstick is forgotten at the back of the fridge,
and months turn muscle into a fuzzy forest of mold—
You can’t choose when
grief will knead your heart sore.
But as a child, when I asked my mother why the pill bug
rolled into a solitary planet when it was afraid,
she suggested we practice softness—
listen to what it had to say.
And this too didn’t leave us unscathed.
"Would I Rather Soften" was originally published in Mid-American Review.
