#daniel nyikos

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of april

daniel nyikos potato soup

mary oliver when death comes

walt whitman leaves of grass: “whoever you are holding me now in hand”

kazim ali refuge temple

d.a. powell republic

toi derricotte natural birth: “november”

cathy song the age of reptiles

dante émile sharing a cigarette with joan of arc

rigoberto gonzalez other fugitives and other strangers: “the strangers who find me in the woods”

mary oliver new and selected poems: “the summer day”

d.a. powell chronic: “continental divide”

kahlil gibran the seven selves

franz wright night walk

mary oliver the black snake

martha collins day unto day: “over time”

ada limón the bird knows he is going to die and wishes not to (recommended to me by @craigslistening <33)

aish (@sapientes) rubin’s vase

tom pickard nectarine

alicia ostriker song

d.a. powell the expiration date on the world is not quite the same as the expiration date on my prophylactic

james dickey the whole motion: collected poems 1945-1992: “the strength of fields”

everett owens strength from a mountain

denise levertov o taste and see: new poems: “the secret”

david st. john the place that inhabits us: “peach fires”

robinson jeffers their beauty has more meaning

thomas centolella almost human: “the hope i know”

elizabeth willis address: “in strength sweetness

amiri baraka s o s: poems 1961-2013: “tender arrivals”

mary oliver the black walnut tree

stephen spender new collected poems: “song”

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[friendethan]

Potato Soup by Daniel Nyikos

I set up my computer and webcam in the kitchen so I can ask my mother’s and aunt’s advice as I cook soup for the first time alone. My mother is in Utah. My aunt is in Hungary. I show the onions to my mother with the webcam. “Cut them smaller,” she advises. “You only need a taste.” I chop potatoes as the onions fry in my pan. When I say I have no paprika to add to the broth, they argue whether it can be called potato soup. My mother says it will be white potato soup, my aunt says potato soup must be red. When I add sliced peppers, I ask many times if I should put the water in now, but they both say to wait until I add the potatoes. I add Polish sausage because I can’t find Hungarian, and I cook it so long the potatoes fall apart. “You’ve made stew,” my mother says when I hold up the whole pot to the camera. They laugh and say I must get married soon. I turn off the computer and eat alone.

[friendethan]

Potato Soup by Daniel Nyikos

I set up my computer and webcam in the kitchen so I can ask my mother’s and aunt’s advice as I cook soup for the first time alone. My mother is in Utah. My aunt is in Hungary. I show the onions to my mother with the webcam. “Cut them smaller,” she advises. “You only need a taste.” I chop potatoes as the onions fry in my pan. When I say I have no paprika to add to the broth, they argue whether it can be called potato soup. My mother says it will be white potato soup, my aunt says potato soup must be red. When I add sliced peppers, I ask many times if I should put the water in now, but they both say to wait until I add the potatoes. I add Polish sausage because I can’t find Hungarian, and I cook it so long the potatoes fall apart. “You’ve made stew,” my mother says when I hold up the whole pot to the camera. They laugh and say I must get married soon. I turn off the computer and eat alone.