Allison’s Noodle Soup

my thirteen year old

daughter

(who once

wasn’t mine

but now

she is)

eats noodle soup

topped with poached egg

and seasoned with chili oil

on a Wednesday afternoon

in the fall

after school

 

school makes her hungry

and she idled through English class

craving the spicy burn

because noodle soup is comfort

now

 

after

13 months of calling her mine

 

but when she came

she did not eat noodle soup

she did not

no

nose not quite mine

not my husband’s either

would crinkle up

at the unfamiliar

sight

 

rice noodles

so unlike spaghetti

bok choy

not spinach

quivering poached egg

perched aloft

trembling as her fears

 

will they make me eat this?

will I be good enough?

will they keep me

will they love me

will we be a family?

 

what will Christmas be like?

my birthday be like?

dinner be like?

will it be

noodle soup?

forever

unfamiliar?

Strange

 

13 months and now

noodle soup is home

she can handle

her hashi

even to transport

five fat gyoza

to her mouth

which isn’t mine either

 

but she is

mine.

daughter

of the

noodle soup.

 

woman in white and black striped sweatshirt holding filled white ceramic bowl
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

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