Soup

Traces in lives, recorded as receipt,
traded as special favour:

“O, this one
was Nana's.”

We are tiered, a family cake,
hierarchy of pillars and power.

You attempt to serve a drip tray
of crowded, rowdy tables,
secrets of hare, moon and Orion's belt.

Yes, you have all the ingredients,
fresh bought and ethically sourced,
it doesn't taste the same,

hers, twice cooked
on the bones of yesterday.