Other mothers have their ”Everything Stew,”
”Icebox Ragout,” ”Kitchen-Sink Casserole.”
Mine had ”Shit Soup,” a recipe she told me
standing in her kitchen in New Jersey.
”Find a big pot, the biggest pot you have.
Shit a quartered chicken into the pot.
If you have an old carcass lying around,
shit it in. Add three quarts of cold water
and salt, and bring to a boil. Skim off
the foam as it collects on the surface.
Slice one large or two medium onions.
Shit them in. Shit in some dill and parsley.
Dried is okay but fresh tastes better.
Cut into bit e-size pieces some carrots,
a couple celery stalks. Shit them in.
Those lousy-looking zucchini squash,
withered wedges of cabbage, puckered peas.
In other words, anything in the fridge.
If you have fresh or frozen string beans,
shit them in. Shit in a few potatoes.
Peel the skin, dig out the eyes, cut off
the bad parts and shit them in anyway,
they’re filled with vitamins and minerals.
Friday’s leftovers, oh, what the hell.
Shit them in, shit in twelve black peppercorns.
Want to know my secret ingredient?
One ripe tomato makes the broth taste sweet.
What’s under that aluminum foil?
Shit it in. A little mold won’t kill you.
My recipe? I don’t measure. I just shit
a little of this in, a little of that.
Your Mama’s Shit Soup. Enough for a week.
With a pot of this you’ll never go hungry.”
Shit in ”There wasn’t time for me to go
to the Shop Rite and buy steaks to broil
for your father’s and your dinner.”
Shit in ”I’d like to sell the store someday
and move to Florida.” Shit in the Recession,
the Second World War, the Great Depression.
Shit in ”There’s no rest for the weary.”
Shit in her bunions, her itchy skin.
Shit in ”Rich or poor, it’s nice to have money.”
Shit in ”Marriage isn’t made in heaven.”
Shit in the Republicans. Shit in her tumor.
Shit in where it spread to her liver
”like grains of rice,” the doctor said.
Shit in her daughters at the cemetery
crying over the hole when they lowered
her in. Shit in one last handful of dirt.
Cover the pot and reduce heat to low.
Simmer on the lowest possible flame
for two hours, or until vegetables
are fork tender, meat falls off the bone.
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