At last, more space to spread out and organize,
clear shelves and drawers to show what’s inside.
Although I’ve resisted this extravagance, I’ve
given in so that I have space to freeze packaged
homemade soups, banana bread, and challah.
I’m not questioning this urge to have more
cooked food at hand, even if the new freezer
lives in the garage, one floor below my kitchen.
It’s backup because I’m a child of fearful parents
who grew up during the Depression, who knew
what it was like to be hungry in every way
you’d use the word. A hurricane is churning
south of here, but a generator will keep me
running from fridge to freezer, moving clear
containers of minestrone, barbeque chicken,
veggies, chocolate cheesecake, chicken soup.
Tripling my freezer space, this new appliance
is ready for a cooking frenzy as I prep for
an apocalypse I won’t live to see. Food:
another inheritance I’ll leave for others.
Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self. Her poetry has appeared in Atlanta Review, The Comstock Review, Prairie Schooner, Slant, Poet Lore, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.