A Poem

by Nikoletta Nousiopoulos

Avgolemono

Yiayia mou, put down the knife and listen to me:
the pepper is burning the soup.

When you slice through the lemonrind
heart, I hear it tear. The sour twists.

I open the window and molecules mix
to instigate memory of your pantoufles,

scuffling by, while you stir Greek lemon soup.
The yolk spills and splits; the brighter you

become, the less I believe.
Anger demands and abandons me:

a boiling point without fire. In a dream,
you plucked the chickens pink

out of feathers, but now, yellow bowls
of soup are what I hunger for. The heart

you drew on my palm grew legs and ran
away. In the drawer, a spoon lies upon

another spoon, while orzo clumps like
seeds in a sunflower’s face during rain.

This slaughter is the closest I’ve come to
daring to eat the eye of the lamb.

April 02, 2026

Nikoletta Nousiopoulos is a poet, writer and educator who resides in Southeastern Connecticut. Her poetry has appeared in various print and digital journals including: antiphony, Fairy Tale Review, Tammy, American Religion, ethel, and Peach Mag. She was awarded a 2026 Poet & Author Fellowship from the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing.