The night comes early, air pregnant
with the cold of rain. The water
in the pot hums and bubbles along
to the tap-squish tune of him slicing up tomatoes, sweet
and tart, blushing green. The meat
goes in, breaking fragrant surface.
How he makes sour soup is different
from my mother, and my grandmother
but my insides cannot tell. My hunger
rarely discriminates, and time
is nothing in the face of a good meal.
My hips sit on a chair across his, woman-ripe.
My tongue is waiting.
We serve each other kisses and bowls
of tangy sour soup. He says,
“I like when we eat well.” I hear,
“I want our love to remain well-fed.”
The rice stains orange. Under the table,
the cats stretch and tussle. There is much
to think and worry and grow about
but for now, we have soup.
Nina Matalam Alvarez is a writer and illustrator. A Creative Writing graduate from the University of the Philippines Mindanao, she has contributed individual pieces to local publications and online journals like SunStar Davao, Dagmay, and The Middle Magazine. Her essay “Ocean Ghost” is part of Tingle: Anthology of Pinay Lesbian Anthology. When she is not writing, she helps manage a local community of young artists and makes illustrations for lovers of the cute, the sensual, and the feminine.