On the First Cold Day, Everyone Makes Chili

On the First Cold Day, Everyone Makes Chili

As you tug a produce bag,
thinner than skin, from the roll

for the red bell pepper,
and pluck a twist tie

from the stand, you see it:
your future, you

in the kitchen tonight,
opening cans of black beans

and kidney beans to empty into the pot,
the chili finished two hours later.

The grocery store sees it, too.
Chili ingredients are stacked near the beer:

tomatoes, beans, round crackers.
Fewer choices than we think,

you know, and this is a gift.
Let the ingredients suggest

the meal, and the season
will suggest the ingredients,

and in this way
we can observe the benevolence

of the universe, the can
of diced tomatoes

that had been grown
last year in soil

you will never stand on,
the pain in the farmer’s

grandfather’s heart prodding him 
to buy some peaceful land.