Hot Soup

When my hair runs through my fingers in the bathtub. When all the world fades under the layer of water and everything encapsulated by the water is heightened. My heartbeat in my ears and my fingers running through my hair.

When I can hear the purr of my cat in the groove in my chest, soft piano music playing in the background. His head laid gently against me as I drift off to sleep. The sound the knife makes when it begins to pierce the skin of a crisp apple. As the juice beads up and the weight becomes too heavy for the molecular bonds and it rolls down onto the cutting board.

The sound Campbell’s Tomato soup makes when it is being heated up over the stove in my mother’s kitchen. As it rolls over itself and presses against the confines of the pot. Steam begins to rise in my face. The wooden spoon hits the bottom and I set in motion the waves of soup against the walls.

​ The moans that come from the worn floors of my new favorite coffee house. The creaks that utter from between the slats of the wood. The floor that has small scratches and scars from the feet that have walked upon it.

The sound my stepmother’s heals make when she is getting ready for a night out. The sound reverberating up from the floor to my ears. The pacing, the readiness, the excitement of the unknown.  

The soft pat of raindrops against a car’s sunroof when it’s dark outside. When the water sits over my head making the stars blurry and the moon a bright streak against the otherwise black velvet sky. When the heater is blasting and I feel soft and it’s all silent except for the wurr of the heater and the soft repetitive pat of drops above my head.

When my feet press down the long grass and into the doughy dirt. As the thin grass folds over my foot blanketing it with their fingers.

The sound lips make when they begin to form the words my heart wants to say. When they part ever so slightly, ready to reinforce an idea or to risk everything. The sound of endless possibilities.

The sound the windshield wiper made on my mother’s old volvo. The gush of the water piling up on the blades as it slides across the glass and into the wind as we drive.