Cockaleekie
by Kathryn Kulpa
The ghost lived in Jessie’s soup tureen. Such an inconvenient spot, such an impudent ghost, always something snide to say about Jessie’s cockaleekie, so Jessie set the tureen on the high shelf to gather dust, but Ralph was too tall for that.
Soup is poorhouse food, Jessie said, and Ralph protested: his immaculate mother, chicken every Sunday, soup on Tuesdays!
Jessie, back at the stove: We meet again, that winking ghost said. Jessie thought of red-eyed hours chopping leeks, watching chicken fat surface in greasy bubbles.
Jessie smiled, loosed her hands, dropped the tureen, watched steam rise up: free, like the ghost.
Kathryn Kulpa is a New England writer with work in Best Microfiction, Claudine, Flash the Court, Ghost Parachute, Rawhead, and Trash Cat Lit. Her great-grandmother Jessie may or may not have been a good cook.
Photo by Yann Allegre on Unsplash
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